


You Only Live Twice

by copperleaves



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angry Sex, Co-workers, F/M, Fake Marriage, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Table Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 51,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2852246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperleaves/pseuds/copperleaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Juice Ortiz is a good detective: smart, thorough, and creative. He's assigned to the task force working against the Teller syndicate, and he realizes this case needs something different. Two detectives, posing as a married couple new to the neighborhood, could earn the trust of the suspicious Tellers and take them down from the inside. He isn't sure what to expect from Olivia Gable, homicide's youngest hotshot, but in the end they both get way more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smart Ass Whiz Kid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hermankozik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermankozik/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, okay. I was prompted with "Olivia and Juice, au where no one's in an MC, fake married." So, um. Here?
> 
> I'm sticking to short chapters for this one bc honestly this is just for fun. It's not gonna be a sprawling epic like cwmt or itb. It's just, ya know. Something to do. :)

Captain Roosevelt had asked Juice to come up with a shortlist of people he might want for the assignment, and he'd agreed—reluctantly. He knew that was a better idea than letting Roosevelt or someone else do it, because this whole operation had been his idea. He knew the type of partner he was looking for better than anyone.

Roosevelt would get final choice, of course, but in the meantime Juice was combing through pages of personnel files hoping he'd stumble on who he needed.

Smart. Undercover experience. Fairly close to his age so they could believably be husband and wife.

He added another name to the email he was composing and flipped to the next file.

"Olivia Gable," he muttered aloud. Homicide. Great. She'd love slummin' it on a vice task force. Except, he noticed, and looked a little harder, she'd been vice before she got her shield.

His eyes widened as he read further. She'd been part of taking down the Glazkov syndicate. Deep cover for three years. Hum. He checked her DOB. Two years younger than him; that would work. Also kind of impressive, homicide at her age.

Juice had been given the option to go to homicide when he moved from cyber crimes, but he'd chosen narcotics instead. He didn't like…dead people. Autopsies. Informing the family. Dead babies, that had to be the worst. He saw enough dead babies working narcotics.

He switched to his email and put an asterisk beside Gable's name. There were ten on the list, and she seemed the most qualified. Ticked the most boxes. Roosevelt had assured him he could pull from any department he wanted, so he assumed that meant a hotshot homicide detective with a high close rate.

He took a few more minutes to write out the pros and cons for each name on the list, then after a quick proofread he sent it. He figured it would be a few days before he heard anything, so he went back to what he'd been working on before Roosevelt requested the names: a briefing packet on the mission as a whole, including deep background on the Teller family.

Juice got so wrapped up in a spreadsheet he was making that tracked the money laundering (follow the money; it always got you were you wanted) that he was surprised when Roosevelt appeared in his cubby.

"Captain," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"I got your email."

"Good. Anybody seem promising?"

"Yep," he said. "I noticed Olivia Gable's name. You know her?"

Juice frowned a little. "Nope. I remember the name, though. From the Glazkov thing."

"Yeah," he said. "Everybody remembers that shit. Made her a golden girl just like the Lin case did for you."

"Is that good or bad?"

Roosevelt shook his head. "She worked under me in vice. Pain in the ass, but a good cop." He cleared his throat and dropped a file on Juice's desk. "Her LT pushed her hard, and while he's a goddamn pain in the ass, too, Morrow knows his men."

"Clay Morrow? The two-three?"

"Yup. Good to know you've been payin' attention." Roosevelt paused and tapped the folder. "I'm recommending Gable for the task force. Take a closer look at her file, and if anything red flags for you let me know. Otherwise she's in."

"Um. Yeah, sure. I wasn't really expecting a decision so fast."

Roosevelt shrugged. "Brass has a real hard-on for the Tellers."

"No offense, sir, but aren't  _you_  brass?"

"Shut up, Ortiz. No one likes a smart ass."

He grinned and opened the file. "Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir."

"Get to work, smart ass. We'll be bringing Gable in sometime this afternoon, and I want you ready to brief her. Okay?"

"No problem."

Juice watched him go a moment before he turned back to his computer. Okay. Olivia Gable. He could work with that.

* * *

"You cannot be fucking serious."

"Look, Gable, don't fuck with me. These orders come from way up. My hands are tied."

She rolled her eyes and wondered if he could possibly fit more cliches into one brief statement. "Lieutenant—"

"We've been working this case for six goddamn months. You wanna blow it now because you're squeamish to shack up with a boy? I know you prefer pussy—"

"Sir, that's hardly appropriate."

He gave a brief tilt of his head in acknowledgement. "Sorry, sorry."

"My sexual orientation has nothing to do with anything. I just think it's ridiculous that I would have to pretend to be  _married_  to some guy I barely fucking know. A  _narcotics_  detective. Are you  _kidding_?"

"This can do great things for your career. You get that? You play a part in taking down the Tellers and you're made. Sergeants exam'll be a formality. Lieutenant in no time and you're takin' my goddamn job."

"Since when do you care about anything except my clearance rate?"

He glowered at her. "Quit bein' such a pain in my ass. You ever think maybe I just want you out of my precinct for five fuckin' minutes?"

"That did occur to me, yes," she said, her tone dry.

The phone next to his elbow rang and he held up a finger to hush her. "Morrow," he barked into the handset. He listened for a while, nodding here and there. Finally, "Understood. She's on her way now."

He hung up and fixed her with a hard look. "I'm sorry about the pussy thing. That was out of line. But, Olivia, it's done. They want you down at the command center now so they can brief you and Ortiz on the details."

"Fuck," she said on a sigh. She scrubbed a hand down her face and gave a weary nod. "Who's gonna take care of Telford?"

The lieutenant smirked at her. "Your partner'll be fine. I'll put him with Trager."

"Oh God," she said. "Good luck to you."

He grimaced and waved her out. "Don't give 'em shit down there, Gable. Make us look good."

She cast him a scornful look over her shoulder. "I always make you look good, LT."

She stopped by her desk to grab her weapon and bag, and Chibs cast her a curious look. "Where the fuck you think you're goin'?"

"They're putting me on the task force."

"The Teller case?"

"That's the one," she said with a scowl.

"Why you look so pissed, lass? That's hot shit."

She propped a hip on his desk and crossed her arms. "It's fucking sexist bullshit. You heard of that kid in narcotics, Ortiz? Came from computer crimes? A real smart ass whiz kid."

" _You're_  a real smart ass whiz kid," Chibs said.

Her glare lacked heat because it was largely true: at barely thirty, Olivia was young to have her shield, much less in homicide. But she was smart and she was good at her job. She had a mouth on her, and a temper to go with it, but that's why she'd been partnered with Chibs. He'd been with the Yard before moving his family stateside, and his experience was a steadying influence on the hot-headed rookie detective. As steadying as one got with her, anyway.

Chibs had heard of the Ortiz kid: he'd made his name in cyber crimes, like Olivia had said, and recently he'd been involved in a major bust with the Lin crime family. Now, apparently, he was on the Teller case: another crime family, involved in everything from drugs to guns to women, and led by the matriarch and all-around badass bitch, Gemma Teller, with her son Jackson as her second.

"So what about him?" Chibs said when she didn't answer.

She hitched a shoulder and lowered her voice. "They've come up with some half-baked…it's so fucking stupid I can hardly even say it." She gritted her teeth. "Apparently as part of the undercover portion of the operation, they need a pair of cops to pose as a married couple."

Chibs blinked at her, and as comprehension slowly dawned he almost choked. "Holy shite," he muttered. "You and this Ortiz kid?"

"Yup," he said.

"Why you? There's got to be another female cop on the detail. Or, fuck, a male cop. It's 2014."

"I don't know. I guess something in my record made them think I'd be ideal sweet Irish wife to Ortiz' Puerto Rican player."

Chibs snorted. "Someone downtown hasn't had the pleasure of your acquaintance."

"Shut up," she said.

"Red hair, green eyes, freckles: it'll be the death of you one day, partner mine."

"So you keep saying," she grumbled. "Why couldn't they have found somebody in vice or narcotics?"

"You used to  _be_  vice, ya wee idiot."

"When I was a uniform! That's not the same thing."

"You did deep cover on that Russian bullshite. The thing with the gambling. It's what got you your shield and got you here, just like Ortiz and the Lins in cyber crimes."

She didn't appreciate the reminder, especially because she knew he was right.

"Gable! What the fuck are you still doin' here?"

"Shit," she said. "On my way out now, LT. Just had to brief my partner."

"How 'bout you let  _me_  handle that, and you get your ass down to that goddamn command center?"

"Yes, sir," she said. She cast Chibs a grimace and hurried out.

She hoped to hell this wouldn't be a long operation. Maybe only a few days; a couple weeks,  _max_.

How the fuck did one pretend to be married to a complete stranger anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear: this has nothing to do with any of the other stories with Olivia/Juice. Her backstory is different here, etc. Obviously this is a total au. :D
> 
> Oh, and, yeah. I know this is the name of a Bond movie. :)


	2. Red Hair/Green Eyes

The command center was really a fancy name for some shitty space in a shitty building about ten miles outside the city proper. The Tellers owned a garage as a front for their operation, and it was in a commercial area populated by fast food chains, strip malls, and cell phone stores. She was pretty sure the command center used to be a Verizon.

She pulled in the parking lot and cut the engine on her department-issue sedan. Chibs would be pissed she'd taken their car, but she was sure Trager still had his. After his partner was killed he'd gone a little nuts (not that anyone blamed him; Kozik's death was fucked as all hell, and no one liked losing a cop) and he'd wrecked two cars. The LT had revoked his privileges after that, but as long as Chibs promised to drive…

Not really her concern. She had this Ortiz kid (he was older than her; she'd looked him up; but since he was undercover there'd been no picture) to worry about. Fuck this bullshit assignment.

She fished her weapon from the center console and climbed out of the car. Gave her silk blouse a brief check for wrinkles before she smoothed both hands down the thighs of her navy blue trousers. Olivia didn't make much money, but a good chunk of her paycheck was funneled right back into her wardrobe. If she was going to make captain by forty she had to dress the part. According to the lieutenant this assignment would help her get there. As long as she kept her attitude in check and didn't fuck it all up.

She turned toward the building and froze. A guy leaned against the wall, one knee bent so that his foot was propped up behind him. She'd never seen the Ortiz kid (maybe she should quit thinking of him like that?) but for some reason she knew this was him. His dark eyes were on her, and she wondered how long he'd been looking.

They stared, taking each other's measure, and Olivia felt a flush prickle the back of her neck. He was cute—not that it made any difference—with those intense eyes and a kind of…unusual face. He smiled all of a sudden, sort of tentatively, but enough to make her stomach do a weird flippy thing. Her mouth curved in a kind of helpless response, and he pushed off the wall to jog toward her.

* * *

The bosses had agreed to his plan, but they were still on his ass about it. He had a feeling it was because the detective they'd picked, Gable from homicide, was giving her LT shit, and he was giving the brass some pushback. Clay Morrow had a reputation for being a pain in the ass, so it wasn't a surprise that one of his detectives would follow suit. Roosevelt had said Morrow was who'd pushed so hard to get her on this detail, so maybe that was the problem: he wanted to make sure his detective was where he wanted her.

Juice hadn't picked her, of course. One of the reasons Roosevelt chose Gable out of Juice's shortlist because she was a green-eyed redhead who could easily pass for Irish, and Juice was fine with that. He just cared that she knew what the fuck she was doing. Even a brief glance at her record had left him mostly satisfied.

With the exception of a write-up for insubordination, and several comments about her mouthiness and temper—all of which had improved markedly when she'd been partnered up with Filip Telford—it was pretty impressive. He hadn't realized she'd been so deep in on that Russian gambling ring takedown, but he was glad to know it; it was a huge reason why she'd made the list. There'd been no picture; she'd spent too much time undercover for that. He'd have to take Roosevelt's word on the red hair and green eyes.

Juice had gone outside to get some air when the car pulled up. There was a glare off the windshield, so he couldn't really see who was driving. Whoever it was they sat for a few minutes before getting out, and once they— _she_ —did, Juice felt for a minute like somebody'd punched him in the gut.

Red hair, all right. Coppery and golden, pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck so that some of it fell around her face. She wasn't turned the right way for him to see her eyes, but from this angle he could make out strong features: a straight, Classical nose; sharp chin; full mouth. And freckles. A scatter of them across her cheeks.

She messed with her clothes and then straightened, and when she turned toward him their gazes locked. Yep. Green. Bright. Knockout figure under her professional clothes, and he wanted to kick himself for thinking it. He wasn't that asshole. Not usually.

The look of wary resignation on her face made him smile, and when she smiled back and started toward him he thought maybe this idea was going to work after all. He straightened and jogged the rest of the way to meet her.

"Hey," she said when she got closer. "Are you—are you Ortiz?"

"Yeah," he said. He held out a hand, and he was surprised by how delicate hers seemed when she took it. She was tiny; maybe five-two or five-three, but she had a kind of no-nonsense air about her that made her seem bigger. "People call me  _Juice_."

"People?" she said, lifting a brow.

He shrugged. "Non-cop people. Might be weird if you got into the habit of calling me by my last name."

Her mouth tilted wryly. "Maybe while we're at work we should keep things professional. I'm Olivia Gable. Homicide."

He let out a brief sigh. "Yeah, okay. Juan Carlos Ortiz. Narcotics."

"Okay," she said. "Good to meet you."

"You too." He paused. "You ever done anything like this before?"

"You mean undercover work or pretending to be married to someone I'm not?" She held up a hand before he could answer. "Never mind. I imagine you looked me up. No, Ortiz. I've never had to pretend to be a complete stranger's loving Irish wife before."

Suddenly she grinned, bright and wide, and a dimple flashed in her chin. "What the hell, right? There's a first time for everything."

He had no idea what she'd just said. He blinked hard and tried to replay the last few seconds back in his head. "Uh, right," he finally said. "Yep. First time."

She gave him an odd look. "I guess we should go in?"

"After you." She smelled like mint, he realized when she brushed past him. Mint and…maybe oranges? He fell in behind her and tried to keep his eyes off her ass.

Jesus.

He'd been wrong: this was a monumentally bad idea, maybe the worst idea he'd ever had. He'd been okay until that smile. She was pretty, yeah, but he could handle pretty. He wasn't exactly Quasimodo, and he'd dated plenty of women who were objectively better looking than Olivia Gable.

Except then she'd smiled, and he'd seen that dimple and the way her eyes lit up and he'd realized he'd maybe never even  _seen_  a woman quite so gorgeous, much less met one in real actual life. He really, really hoped she was completely obnoxious or totally boring or (maybe?) really stupid, because otherwise he was in deep. Deep. Deep. Shit.

* * *

Once they were inside, Roosevelt appeared and called Olivia to his office. She shot Juice a look and he shrugged.

"Go on," he said. "I gotta finish setting up for the briefing anyway."

"Okay. See ya, Ortiz."

"Yup."

They split up and Olivia surveyed the room as she made her way toward Roosevelt's office. She recognized a few faces here or there, but overall she didn't really know anyone. A bigger guy with a thick beard watched her through narrowed, suspicious eyes. She gave him her sweetest, friendliest smile and a nod and he turned away with a snort of disgust.

Asshole. Who pissed in his cornflakes?

Roosevelt glanced up when he heard the door, and his face creased in a smile. "Gable," he said, "have a seat."

"Sir." She took the chair opposite his desk. Then, remembering what the LT had said, "I wanted to thank you for this opportunity. I appreciate it."

He tented his hands together and studied her a moment. "I like you, Gable. I always have. There aren't many people who can say that and really mean it."

Her mouth opened. Closed again. "Um. Thanks…?"

His lips twisted. "My apologies. That maybe came out wrong."

"No," she said. "I'm pretty sure it came out exactly how you meant it."

His brows quirked in a brief shrug. "Still not giving any breaks, I see."

"Breaks make people lazy," she said. She smiled then, vaguely. "Is there something specific you needed, sir? Ortiz made it sound like you wanted us to get started as quickly as possible."

"I do," he said. He sighed. Rose and walked around his desk before he perched on the edge of it. Olivia looked up at him, her forehead scrunched, and she had a sinking feeling she knew where this was going.

"You requested homicide when you transferred out of my unit, and I was more than happy to approve it. But homicide and deep cover are two very different things. I need to know you can do this, Olivia."

"Captain—"

He held up a hand. "I'm not asking as your captain. I'm asking as your friend. I can reassign you. For any reason. If you don't  _want_  to do it. It's not going to be easy work, and we're asking a lot of you. Ortiz is a fine detective and a good cop, but he doesn't have any undercover field experience. That means he'll primarily be on surveillance while you do the legwork."

She chewed her lip a moment. She had a good idea what legwork might involve on this case, and while it didn't thrill her—well. The job was the job.

"I won't let you down, Eli. I can do this."

He sighed and his face creased in a sad smile. "You've never let me down, Olivia. Remember that."

"That's kind of you to say, sir."

"Goddammit, Gable, if I were being  _kind_ —" He broke off and let out a huff of impatience. "It's just the truth, Detective."

Her chin dipped and she swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat. She wished she could feel the same way. She supposed this was a sort of second chance, wasn't it? Despite what anyone said Olivia knew it wasn't just her occasional attitude problems that kept her from making sergeant: for all that taking down the Glazkovs had been a huge coup, it had been done a bit more messily than the department preferred. Everyone said it hadn't been her fault, but Olivia wasn't stupid; she understood politics as well as the next guy. She'd been given homicide, like she wanted, but it was under Clay Morrow, a notorious hard ass. She'd lucked out in Telford, because otherwise it might seem as though they were trying to wash her out.

She thought they probably were, but she also thought that Morrow, the notorious hard ass, wasn't inclined to let them. There was nothing he liked more than going against the brass. If he'd pushed to have her on this case then it was for good reason: someone didn't want her here, and he wanted her to give them a big  _fuck you_  on his behalf.

He was, after all, the one who'd paired her with Telford in the first place.

If it was one thing Olivia excelled at, it was dispensing  _fuck you_ s. She lifted her head and smiled at Roosevelt. "I'm good, Captain. Thank you for your concern. And thank you for this opportunity."

"You've earned it, Gable. I know you'll do good work here." He nodded and pushed to his feet, and she took that as a dismissal. "One thing, though," he said as she pulled the door open.

"Hm?" she said over her shoulder.

He grinned at her. "Go easy on Ortiz. You wanna give anyone shit, give it to me."

She laughed. "Don't worry, Cap. There's plenty of shit to go around."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so. Some of you might be confused. "Didn't I get an email about this chapter earlier?" Yes, loves. You did. I forgot I wanted to tack on this scene with Eli at the end, so I unpublished. Now here I am again, and I've taken the shortest chapter to the longest. Um. Oops? Or maybe Yay. I don't know.
> 
> Anyway, here it is again. For real this time. :)


	3. One Step at a Time

At the briefing they were given a rundown on the Tellers—which bored virtually everyone but Olivia; she had a lot of catching up to do—as well as details of the mission in general, including what this fake marriage bullshit would actually look like.

"All right," Roosevelt said. "If you'll all open your briefing packets to page ten, you'll see a smaller version of this map." He hit a button on the little remote in his hand and a projector whirred to life. The map appeared on the wall behind him, and he pointed to a highlighted area near the center.

"This is the neighborhood where both Gemma and Jackson Teller live. Gemma is here, Jackson here with his wife and their two kids."

Olivia stirred. "Wife and kids? Is she involved?"

Roosevelt frowned. "We aren't entirely sure. We're exploring her as a possible in. She's a pediatric surgeon at St. Thomas Hospital."

Didn't sound like a criminal's wife.

"Regardless. We've secured access to these two houses on the Tellers' block." The little laser light circled the ones he meant. "Gable and Ortiz will be here. This one will be empty, as it has been for several months, but if it's necessary we'll move a team in there, too."

"So. I'm sorry. Maybe I'm being obtuse about this whole thing, but I've only had about half an hour to process it. What exactly will we be doing in this semblance of marital bliss?" Olivia said.

"C'mon, Gable," one of the cops said with a snort. "Even  _you_  gotta know about the birds and the bees."

She cut him a glare so hot that Roosevelt knocked his knuckles against the table to get their attention. "Toric, out," he barked.

The detective in question scowled. "Jesus, Cap, it was a joke!"

" _Out_. Now. Don't make me tell you again, Detective."

He glowered at Olivia and stomped out of the room. It was the same guy from before, the one who'd given her the dirty look as she walked by. She'd known enough cops like him to spot a problem when she saw one. Detective Toric: man to avoid in the future.

She wondered how much of it had to do with her, and how much had to do with what had gone down with the Russians.

Juice blinked across the table at her and wondered about Toric's comment. He'd seemed especially vicious with the  _you_  part of it. Had they dated or something? And now he was bitter? Juice realized Roosevelt was speaking to him, and he jerked a look at the captain.

"I'm sorry?"

Roosevelt lifted a brow at him. "I was hoping you could fill Detective Gable in on the details of your plan."

"Your plan?" Olivia said.

"Detective Ortiz didn't tell you? This whole thing was his brainchild." Roosevelt smiled at her and adjourned the briefing. "We'll give you two some time to work it all out," he said.

The room cleared and Olivia and Juice were left alone at the conference table. She had her head bent and was writing something, and for a long time the only sound was the scrape of her pen. Finally she glanced up at him.

"So talk," she said.

"Uh." He frowned and shifted in his chair. "Look, I think this could really work. It gets us in the neighborhood, and if you can get close to the wife we'll have an in."

"That's my job here, then?" She dropped her pen and sat back, crossing one leg over the other. "I play little woman while you trot off to some fake office somewhere—probably here, actually—to do real police work? Seriously?"

"Gable, come on. That's not what it's like. This  _is_  real police work, for both of us. Yeah, it's a little unusual, but I think that's why Roosevelt chose you for it."

"What do you mean?"

"I read the thing about the Russians. You did real good work there."

Her brow quirked. "Wow, Ortiz. You gonna pat me on the head and give me a cookie?"

He huffed. He was beginning to understand all the comments on her record. "If that came across as condescending, I'm sorry. All I meant was this is bigger than we thought when we got started. The Teller organization has deep as hell roots and it stretches like a son of a bitch. We need a way in, and it might be the wife. It might be a barbecue in the backyard. Or it might just be having constant surveillance on them because we're so close."

She dropped his eyes. She was being a jerk and she knew it. It had been his idea, but he hadn't chosen her for the assignment, so she shouldn't really blame him. And there was a chance he was right. She didn't understand why a single bachelor neighbor couldn't do the same thing, but—

"It has to be a couple. That's more trustworthy," he said like he could read her mind. "A single guy randomly moves into the neighborhood and starts trying to cozy up to them? She'd be suspicious because she'd think I had an agenda; Teller would be suspicious because he'd think I'm a cop."

She sighed and rested her elbows on the table. "Okay, Ortiz. Gimme the lowdown."

He grinned, a big one that stretched from ear to ear, and her breath left in a tiny  _whoosh_. Wow. His entire face lit up and his eyes crinkled at the corners (she was a sucker for that) and he had really nice teeth.

_Teeth_? Seriously? She ducked her head to hide a blush and pretended to be taking notes as he talked.

If he noticed her sudden discombobulation he didn't comment. Instead he leaned toward her across the table and slid a packet her way. "That's our history. At least some of it. I figured we could come up with some more details as we go, like, um." Now it was his turn to fidget. "Like as we get to know each other."

"Hum," she said. She flipped through it. It was pretty basic stuff. Apparently their names were Javier and Sophie-Anne Martinez. They'd met in college. He was a tech analyst and she was a mechanic. Someone had had their nose in her file.

Other than that there wasn't much. They would need to do some serious story planning: how they'd met, how he'd proposed, what their wedding had been like. If it was her job to get close to the wife she'd absolutely need to know those things.

"We'll need photographs," she muttered.

"Yeah, I got that covered. If you can just get me some old pictures of you, one of my buddies in cyber crimes can make us some stuff. It'll look like the real deal. Uh…also…" He cleared his throat and she glanced up at him.

"Wedding pictures," she said. "Yeah, I know. That's fine. But I get to pick my dress." She set the folder aside and fixed him with a long look. "Living arrangements?" was all she said, but he knew what she meant.

"We're going through a rough patch. It's why we moved out of the city. As a result we're sleeping in separate bedrooms, but we're trying to work things out."

He hesitated. "Listen, Gable, I know this isn't ideal. I know it's not your first choice of assignments. But I think we can do really good work together. Obviously it'll be a little awkward at first, but I'm not an asshole, and I'm a good cop."

She regarded him a moment, her bright eyes careful and probing. "I don't think you're an asshole, Ortiz, at least not yet, and your record speaks for itself. This whole thing is just…strange. And really out of the blue."

"I know. I've been working on this for weeks, but the second I presented it to Roosevelt he was all over it. That was two days ago."

"I guess they can work fast when they want to."

"Yeah," he said with a half-smile that was only slightly less devastating than his full grin. "They're definitely working fast on this one. Which means they'll want us to get moved in as soon as possible, but—"

"We should probably get to know each other a little first. Rough patch or not, it'll be obvious if we're complete strangers."

"That's what I was thinking."

They both went quiet and their eyes met across the table. She was attracted to him, and she thought maybe the feeling was mutual. That would help. You couldn't fake chemistry. She noticed he wasn't wearing a ring.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she said. "A boyfriend?"

"Um. No. Not sure either one would go for something like this."

She agreed with a brief tilt of her head. "I split up with someone a few months ago. She would've flipped her shit over this."

_She_ , he thought. Oh. Maybe that's what Toric meant. He could've sworn he'd been picking up some vibes from her, but he must've been wrong. Well. It didn't matter. She'd spent three years pretending to be in love with Andrei Glazkov, and look how that'd ended.

"I don't wear jewelry," she said, apropos of nothing.

His brow furrowed. "What?"

"Sorry. I just mean—wedding rings. An engagement ring. I would prefer not to wear any jewelry."

"Oh." He wondered what that was about, but he didn't ask. Maybe later. "We can work with that."

She nodded, clearly relieved. "So. Maybe we should…I don't know. Get something to eat? Some lunch? And get to know each other a bit better."

It sounded like she was asking him out, but he was smart enough not to comment on that. Instead he just smiled and pushed himself to his feet. "Yeah," he said. "Sounds like a plan. We can pick out china patterns."

She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she wasn't actually mad. "Watch it, Ortiz. One step at a time."

He held the door for her and grinned as she went by. "Sorry, Gable. Never had an arranged marriage before, so I'm not really sure of protocol."

"Eyes off my ass and mind on the job and we should be just fine," she said, sweetly.

He almost choked. There's no way she could know he— "Sure," he said. "No problem here."

"Good," she said. "Then let's get to work."


	4. Marry Me

The next two weeks were a whirlwind. Juice had never done deep cover work before, not like this, but Olivia had spent three years with the Russians. There were details she brought up that hadn't even occurred to him, and as the days passed he realized why Roosevelt had made such a seemingly unlikely choice.

They spent about ninety-five percent of their time together at work, and she grilled him endlessly on details about her character, his, and their characters together. Today they were at a park near her precinct, in the city, and they'd been wandering until they found an out-of-the-way bench. So they sat, ate, and again she started the q and a.

"I know we met in college, but how?"

"Um. The cereal aisle at the grocery store. I knocked over an end aisle display, and there were boxes of Frosted Flakes everywhere. You stopped to help me pick them up, and even though I'm usually pretty shy, you were so cute I had to ask for your number."

Her mouth fell open. That last part was new. She ducked her head to hide a blush and flipped a page in her notebook. "Good. Remember to vary the details when you tell it. Like you would a real story, right? Stories like how you met and how he proposed are the type of things people ask a couple once they start to get to know them." She paused. "Speaking of—?"

"Nope," he said. "Not quite yet."

Their prep time was almost up and he still wouldn't nail down a proposal story. He said he wanted to get to know them both a bit better first, and he'd tell her when he'd had a chance to think about it. Olivia gave a brief roll of her eyes and didn't bother to argue.

"Okay. Why did we leave the city?"

"I had an affair," he said, sounding as ashamed as if he actually had. "Not an affair really it was just one time—"

"Ortiz."

"What? You said be authentic." He grabbed a chip from the bag at her elbow and ate it with a frown. "I can't imagine what kind of asshole…"

He trailed off. She had a feeling he hadn't known he was speaking aloud. "What kind of asshole what? People cheat. It happens."

His eyes drifted her way, and his look was thoughtful. "You ever cheat?"

"No. Well—" She sighed and brushed a hand through her hair. "In high school I kissed a boy while I was kind of dating another boy. But it wasn't like  _cheating_. We weren't a couple, really."

"A boy?" He reached for another chip, but she swatted at his fingers. He grinned, the big one, and dipped his hand in the bag. "So you dated guys in high school?"

She frowned a little. "Why—? Oh." She'd told him her last relationship had been with a woman, and he must have assumed a few things. "I'm not a lesbian," she said.

"Uh. Oh. Um. No…?"

"No. I'm bi. Bisexual? I like men and women."

He made a face. "I know what  _bisexual_  means, Gable."

"Hhhmm. Just making sure." She cleared her throat and turned professional again. "Okay. So as not to muddy the issue Sophie's bi, too. It's not like I'll be advertising the fact, but it's something you should probably know."

He ducked his head and concentrated for a minute on his weird green smoothie thing. Then, "Well I mean, wouldn't it make more sense if you'd been the one to cheat?"

She crossed one leg over the other and laced her fingers together on top of her knee. "I'm sorry. Why?"

He hitched a shoulder. "I don't know. You're bi, so…?"

"So I have an insatiable sexual appetite and can't control who I fuck." Her mouth quirked. "Shove it, Ortiz. I just told you I've never cheated before. I'm a grown-ass adult, just like you, and finding someone attractive doesn't automatically equal ripping their clothes off. Look at us, for example."

"Us?" he said, his head jerking toward her so fast she was surprised he hadn't hurt himself. "You're attracted to me?"

She let out a sigh. "This wouldn't work if I weren't." She relaxed, uncrossing her legs again and grabbing her notebook off the bench. It wasn't his fault; he was just saying the same thing she'd heard from about ninety percent of the people who knew about her sexuality.

He sat up and twisted toward her a little. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I guess I  _am_  an asshole."

"You're not an asshole. Just—don't make assumptions, okay?"

"Yeah. You're right." An alarm on his phone beeped and he glanced at it. "Shit," he said. "Wedding pictures."

She flipped her notebook shut while he gathered their trash. "Cheer up, Ortiz. I bet you look great in a suit."

In the car she cut him a look. "What were you going to say back there?"

"What? When?"

"You said  _I can't imagine what kind of asshole_  and never finished the thought."

"Oh." He drew in a breath and let it out. Turned his head to stare out the window so she couldn't see his face. "I was just wondering what kind of asshole would cheat on you. I mean, a woman like you. You seem—" He broke off and shifted in his seat.

"I seem…? What? Like the type of woman who'd shove all your shit in your car and set it on fire?"

He snorted out a laugh. "Maybe. But that's not what I meant."

She tapped his knee and he glanced at her, startled, before he relaxed. They'd been trying to do that more the past day or two: casual touching, like long-time couples did, but it had been hard going. Neither of them _liked_  casual touching that much. They'd decided to integrate the distance into their backstory and blame it on his affair and the rift it had caused in their marriage.

Now as her hand fell to land on the gearshift knob, he brushed his fingers over the back of it, tentative and careful. She smiled at him, just a hint, and he smiled back.

"I just meant if I were lucky enough to wind up with a woman like you, I hope I wouldn't be stupid enough to fuck it up like that."

"Um." She pulled into a parking spot in front of the photography studio and made a big production out of turning the car off and stashing her keys in her bag. Finally she shook back her hair and looked at him. "That's sweet, Ortiz. But I think you were closer to the truth of it when you thought I'd set your shit on fire."

"Right," he said, his eyes searching her face. She wasn't anywhere near as hard as she pretended. He'd figured that much out in the last ten days. But he'd also realized it was better to let her keep the illusion intact.

"Oh hey," he said as she reached for the door handle. "I figured out how I proposed."

She frowned. "Now? Just now?"

"Yep. Just now. Want me to tell you or wait till after?"

She sighed and sat back in her seat. "Lay it on me, partner."

He twisted to face her. "We were twenty-two, and we'd just gotten our first apartment together in the city. It was tiny, but it had a real actual bedroom."

"Not a studio," she said with a smile. "Go us."

He answered her smile with one of his own. "We didn't have any furniture yet, though. Like, not even any pots and pans or dishes or anything."

"Mmhhmm," she said. For once she wasn't writing anything down, just listening with her bright eyes steady on his face.

He took her hand in his, not holding exactly, just playing with her fingers. She didn't pull away, and he figured that was a good sign. "We got Chinese takeout from the place below us. Did I mention that? Our apartment was above a Chinese place?"

"After a while everything we owned smelled like lo mein," she said.

"Yeah. We still can't smell eggrolls cooking without—"

"Wanting to fuck. It's okay; you can say it."

He blushed and shrugged. "Anyway, so we were eating noodles on the floor with chopsticks, and I suck at chopsticks so you were laughing at me. I threw a fortune cookie at you and you threw one at me. I opened mine and said…"

He trailed off and she laughed. "This is going to be both cute and cheesy I can tell."

Their eyes met and locked, and suddenly all the silliness of the moment vanished. His mouth went dry and her eyes widened. "I asked you what yours said."

"It was generic fortune cookie stuff, but I never forgot.  _You'll have happiness all your days_. What did yours say?"

" _Marry me_."

"Presumptuous cookie. You two just met." She was smiling as she said it, and he lifted his hand to touch her face, like Javy (as they'd decided to call him) might have done to Sophie that night.

"Marry me," he said again. "Marry me and I'll spend the rest of my life making sure yours comes true."

She swallowed. Color brushed her cheeks and she realized that somehow they'd leaned closer as they spoke, and now their faces were only inches apart.

"Marry me," he said a third time, his voice barely a whisper. She felt the warmth of his breath across her mouth and she shivered.

"Yeah, okay," she murmured.

He grinned, huge and wide, before his expression stilled again. He brushed his lips over hers. Once, twice, and with the third one the dam broke. She pressed toward him with a hungry little noise. He moaned against her mouth and hauled her as close as he could with the stupid console between them. His fingers tangled in her hair while hers curled in the front of his shirt.

Her mouth was as lush and soft as it looked, and he could taste the tart sweetness of lemonade. Her lower lip slotted between his like it had been made to fit there, and when his tongue brushed across it she sighed softly and opened for him.

His lips were chapped, just a bit, but warm and firm, and when his tongue slipped against hers the taste of him was dizzying. Or maybe that was just the kiss. The kiss that went on and on, neither of them interested at all in breaking it. Except they should they really should because they were working and while attraction was a must, this was…this was…

"Not a good idea," she rasped as she jerked away.

He blinked at her, befuddled. "Huh?"

"The—the kissing. Not—we're estranged, remember? Or sort of. Sleeping in separate bedrooms and not—not making out in the car like horny teenagers."

"Oh," he said. His mouth curved in a smirk. "Is that what we were doing?"

She glared at him and reached for the door handle, but he stopped her. "Hang on," he said. "Your hair."

She glanced in the rearview mirror and sighed. "You sure do get handsy, Ortiz."

"It's just your hair, Gable. That's barely handsy at all." She leaned across him to grab a hairbrush from the glove compartment, and he tried to ignore the feel of her pressed against his legs. "Um. So, um. You liked the engagement thing?"

Sitting up, she shot him a wry smile. "It was okay," she said.

"Just okay? I can revisit it if you—"

She smacked his thigh with the back of her hand. "Just shut up, you smug little shit."

He grinned. "So it worked then."

They locked eyes again. "Yeah, Ortiz. It definitely worked."

"Good," he said. "Then I guess let's go in and pose for fake wedding pictures."

"After you, fake husband."

The tension of the moment broke as they smiled, but neither of them had forgotten the kiss. The taste of each other and the heat. She could still feel his mouth on hers and he could still feel the press of her body. They would ignore it, because they had a job to do, but they both wondered just how much it would complicate things going forward.


	5. Hook Baited

Their guest room faced the Teller house—Jackson, not Gemma—and they'd set up their main surveillance there. Juice had been at it all morning, checking the monitors and making notes. Olivia joined him at lunchtime and set a sandwich and a smoothie on the table near his elbow.

He glanced at it, then up at her. "Oh," he said, surprised. "Thanks." His stomach gurgled and he blushed. "Guess I didn't realize how hungry I was getting."

She smiled and propped against the desk. "What's a fake wife for if not to make you the occasional sandwich?"

He'd noticed in the two-plus weeks they'd been living together that she could be incredibly considerate when she thought he wasn't paying attention. She made sure there was always a warm towel waiting for him when he got out of the shower in the morning. His car had been making a weird wheezing noise, but one day all of a sudden it stopped; she'd fixed it without saying a word about it, so he hadn't either. And then stuff like this: random sandwiches, and the smoothies he liked that she both hated and didn't understand.

He wondered how much of it was Olivia and how much was Sophie Martinez, loving wife trying to patch things up. It didn't matter, really…but he suspected it was more Olivia than even she'd admit.

As he reached for the sandwich his pen rolled off the desk and hit the floor. He bent to retrieve it and paused. Sat up slowly, his eyes trailing the length of her legs until he reached the very brief pair of cutoffs she was wearing. Higher, over a tiny t-shirt snug across her breasts, then to her face and its expression of sardonic amusement.

"Everything okay, Ortiz?"

"Um."

She laughed and straightened. "Since my overtures to the wife didn't work, I thought I'd try Teller himself."

She'd gone by their house the other night to borrow a can opener, and she'd said Tara had been polite but distant, and apparently not at all interested in sharing neighborhood gossip or casserole recipes.

"He's there, right? Still working in the driveway?"

"Uh, yeah. He's got that old bike taken apart, and I think he's rebuilding it. What, uh, what are you gonna do?"

"Nothing. Check under the Cougar's hood. Shake my ass a little."

He blinked at her.

"You look so scandalized, Ortiz. You know we're not  _really_  married, right?"

"Of course I do," he said with a scowl. "Just…I mean…" He trailed off with an awkward shrug. "How do you know he'll go for it?"

"I don't know, sugar. Wouldn't you?"

His mouth curved in a grin and he bit his lip. "Yeah," he said, teasing her now, "but I'm a sucker for a leggy redhead."

She snorted. "Thanks, Ortiz. I'll keep that in mind." She patted his shoulder. "Eat. I'll be outside if you need me."

"Uh huh. Outside shakin' your ass for the neighbor boy."

"Hey," she said over her shoulder, " _someone_  around here needs to appreciate my ass."

She was gone before he could reply, and that was probably better. Since that kiss in the car they'd been keeping things professional, but he had to admit living in such close quarters had given him an entirely new appreciation of her ass. And all the rest of her, too.

He sighed and flipped the monitor to the camera facing the driveway. Her car—a 1970 Mercury Cougar, mint condition—was parked there, and she'd just popped the hood. He couldn't see Teller from this angle, but a check of another camera showed him still working on the bike. He hadn't noticed her yet, but Juice saw the exact moment when he did.

It was a good idea. Teller owned that garage, and Sophie was a mechanic. An unemployed mechanic. If she could get a job there they'd have even more eyes on the Tellers, and with the garage acting as their legit front…

Well. It was a good idea. He wasn't sure why it made him so uncomfortable. He frowned at the screen: Teller had left the bike and somehow ended up in their driveway. Olivia was leaning against the car and they were chatting. It looked amicable. He didn't seem to be leering.

Juice gritted his teeth. So what if he was? All the better to underestimate her, maybe start trusting her a little. It was what they needed. She was Juice's partner, not anything else, and getting weird about it would only complicate everything.

* * *

Olivia's heart wasn't as into fake-flirting with Jackson Teller as she might hope. He was good looking, blond-haired blue-eyed pretty boy, and he was definitely turning on the charm, but…maybe it was too easy? She wasn't sure, but she knew she had to keep her head together or she was going to fuck this whole thing up.

She smiled at him, letting the dimple in her chin flash. "I inherited it," she said to his question about her car. "It was my grandfather's baby."

"Huh," he said. He gave the car a long, slow look, then turned the same gaze on her. "Looks good. Engine sounds great."

"You been listenin' to my engine, Mr. Teller?" she said.

He hitched a shoulder and his mouth curved. "Kinda hard to miss," he said, his eyes warm as they lingered on her body before they flicked to her face. "And, hey, call me  _Jax_. I've been meanin' to come over and introduce myself, Tara and me, but I haven't had a chance."

"I met your wife a few days ago. And your adorable boys."

"Yeah," he said. "Tara mentioned you stopped by. To, uh—borrow a can opener?"

"That's right. I couldn't find ours in all the boxes, and it's actually hard as hell to open a can of tomatoes with a knife. As I discovered the hard way."

"Maybe you just need a bigger knife," he said.

"Could be," she said. Her lips quirked. "And here I thought it was all about how you use it."

He waved a hand. "Don't believe that bullshit. Size matters."

She almost rolled her eyes, but she covered it with a brief laugh. "I'll take your word for it," she said. "Seems like a subject you know a lot about.  _Knife_  size, I mean."

"Right," he said. "Knife size."

They watched each other for several long seconds, and she could read his thoughts plainly on his face. There was very little subtle about this man, unless he was completely fucking with her. Somehow she doubted it. The subtlety was there, the potential for it, but he was the type who, when he saw something he wanted, took it. Period.

She let her teeth sink into her full lower lip and sucked a tiny bit. His pupils dilated and she smirked. "Wanna take a peek under the hood?" she said.

"Love to, darlin'."

He followed her around the car and they both bent over to inspect the engine. "Careful," she said, pointing above his head.

He glanced up and grimaced. There was a strange claw-like…thing…that stuck out dangerously. "Yeah, thanks."

"Mmhmm. I'm short enough to miss it, but not everyone's so lucky."

"Man," he said after a moment. "I'd love to get my hands on this beauty." He cut her a glance to be sure she understood he wasn't just talking about the car. As if she had any doubt. "If you ever need a mechanic, I own a shop."

"Really? That's funny."

He straightened, his face scrunched. "Funny?"

"A little. I'm my own mechanic. That's what I did back in the city. Since we've been out here I've been looking…" She trailed off and waved a hand. "Never mind. Forget I said that."

"No, hang on. You do all this work yourself?"

"Yeah," she said. "Always have. Why? Don't I look like the grease monkey type?"

It gave him another excuse to rake her up and down. "Not really," he said. "Except maybe the kind you see on a calendar."

She lifted a brow. "I can be that kind, too," she said, quietly.

He cleared his throat and dropped her eyes. It surprised her, but in a pleasant way. Maybe he wasn't  _quite_  as much a sleaze as he seemed. "My mom does all the hiring. She's the office manager. Maybe you could come by sometime this week, have a talk with her? If you had references or something…?"

"Jax, thank you, but I'd feel so awkward—you're my neighbor and—I honestly wasn't trying to hit you up for a job."

His easy smile returned. "Nah, I know you weren't. It's cool; we just had a guy quit and it's a busy time of year. Come by. All you gotta do is talk to her. Worth a shot, right?"

She glanced away, blushing a little. "Yeah," she finally said. "Okay. I don't really have anything to lose, and—but thank you. For real."

"Hey, it's no problem. Gives me an excuse to see your car again."

"My  _car_  lives right next door. You can see it any time you want."

"That's true," he said, "but I'd hate to be a pest."

She met his look with one of her own. "I don't think you could be a pest," she said. "My car loves admirers."

"I just bet it does," he said. He gave her one last grin and took a step back. "I should probably head home. Tara'll be back from the store soon and she'll need help with the boys."

"Sure. It was nice meeting you." She held out her hand and he shook it, squeezing a little.

"You too, Sophie. Maybe see you later this week around the shop?"

"Maybe so," she said.

"Good." He turned away and started across the yard, and he didn't look back until he was almost at his driveway. She still watched him, her full mouth curved in a little smile, and when he lifted his hand in a brief wave she waved back.

Hook baited, she thought as he disappeared inside. Now to wait for the right moment to reel him in.


	6. Never Again

"How'd it go?" he called when he heard the door.

She wandered upstairs to the guest room and sat down in the extra chair. "Fine, I guess."

"You guess?"

Her face was scrunched in a pensive frown. "He asked me to come by the shop later this week to talk to his mom about a job."

"Hey! That's great. That's what we wanted, right?"

"Mmhmm," she said with a slow nod.

He studied her. "So what's wrong?"

"I don't know," she said. "There was something about him." She let out a breath and ran a hand through her long hair. "He's good looking. Charming. I think he's used to people underestimating him."

"He's probably a lot more shrewd than people give him credit for," he agreed. "He's more than just his mom's muscle."

She nodded, but her eyes were far away. She chewed her lip in a distracted sort of way. From where he'd been sitting everything had looked good. She'd gotten an invite to come to the shop, practically a job offer, so what had her so jumpy?

"Olivia, whatever you're thinking—"

"I'm not thinking anything."

"Come on," he said. "I'm your partner. You gotta be straight with me."

She looked at him then, and something about her eyes made him reach for her. His hand hovered in the air between them a moment before he let it fall. He offered her an awkward smile and a shrug, and her mouth quirked a little.

"I'd been in with the Glazkovs almost two years when my partner got made," she said, apropos of nothing.

He stared at her. "You don't think Teller—"

"No," she said with a quick shake of her head. "No, I don't. But—it's something I think about. I didn't realize quite how much until I was face to face with him."

"What happened to your partner?" he said after a minute.

Her lips moved in a rueful curve. "What do you think, Ortiz?"

"Shit," he said, wincing.

"Yeah." She tugged at a string dangling from her cutoffs. "I was in with Andrei at that point. He took me with him when he went to confront my partner. I had to sit across a table from him and keep my mouth shut while Andrei Glazkov grilled her."

"What happened?" Juice said again, his voice quiet.

Her shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. "Andrei's boys came to pick her up…and I never saw her again. No one did, as far as I know."

A pair of lines appeared between his brows as he watched her. "You're a good cop, Gable."

A grim, humorless smile. "Good cop, bad. Didn't fucking matter, did it? She was still dead and I was still…" She trailed off and looked away. "Point being, if it looks like one of us is made, we're out. Okay?"

"Out? What do you mean, out?"

"What does it sound like, Ortiz?  _Out_. No case is worth dying for. That's my rule. I should've said it earlier, but I didn't even realize it before. He'd kill either one of us as soon as look at us."

"I know that," he said. "That's why we're here. You don't get decide when I'm out. It doesn't work that way."

"When was the last time you did deep cover, Ortiz?"

"You know this is the first," he grumbled.

"Okay," she said. "Then listen to me. I'm not trying to be a bitch or ruin your case—"

"Our case."

" _Our_  case. I just—I don't want the same shit happening all over again. I'm not losing another partner when there's something I could do to stop it."

He drew in a long breath. "Look, Olivia, I get where you're coming from. I don't know what it's like to lose a partner or to be in that sort of situation, but I do know how much work everyone's put into this case. I know all the bad shit the Tellers get up to."

"Yeah, I do too. I've read the files."

"Then you gotta know what you're asking is impossible."

"Juice, if one of us is made, we both are. There's no way in hell they'll believe only one of us is a cop. And even if they do, they'd probably kill the other one just to send a message."

She'd never called him  _Juice_  before. He wanted to hear it again. To watch her mouth as it shaped the syllable.

He shook his head to clear it and tried to focus. "We're not gonna get made, Liv. We got this."

"I need a dose or two of your optimism, I think."

He made a low noise of agreement. "I'm pretty sure it's contagious."

She swiped his water bottle off the desk and took a long pull. "There we go. Properly infected, I hope."

"Hey!" he said. "That's not what I meant!"

"Oh please, Ortiz, you've had my tongue in your mouth. I think you can handle a germ or two on your water bottle." She handed it back to him and stood up to stretch, lifting onto her toes and raising her arms above her head so that her t-shirt rode up.

His eyes were so glued to that pale strip of skin that he didn't notice the way she looked at him. Finally he glanced up, and at her expression he offered a brief smile.

"Whoops," he said.

She poked his nose. "Work on that, Ortiz."

"Which part? Ogling you or apologizing for it?"

"I think you've got the ogling part down."

He pressed a hand to his chest like she'd wounded him. "I've barely ogled you. Maybe twice the whole time we've known each other."

"Hm." She stepped closer, one leg on either side of his, and dropped down to sit on his knees. He gaped at her, and she laughed as she leaned forward, her hands braced on his thighs, to press a kiss against his cheek. "Relax, Ortiz," she said. "I'm not trying to seduce you."

"Wouldn't have to try," he muttered.

"What's that?"

He cleared his throat and shifted. "Nothing. Just—what  _are_  you doing?"

"Giving you a chance to ogle. Get it out of your system."

"Um. That's not really—you don't have to—do…that."

"I know this is incredibly unprofessional, but you're actually really cute sometimes." She scooted a toward him, along his thighs, and almost without thinking he let his hands fall to rest on her hips. He squeezed and she wiggled.

"Olivia," he breathed. "What are you doing?"

"I told you," she said. "But you're not ogling."

In fact his eyes were trained on her face, and they had been since she sat down. Now they darted down to her mouth, then back up again. He bit his lip and she felt her cheeks go hot. She loved it when he did that. She wondered if he knew.

He settled back in the chair and tugged her closer. He still had his lip caught between his teeth, and now he did let his gaze roam, but he barely lingered on her breasts before he came back to her face. She rested her hands on his chest and swallowed: the muscles his shirts always hinted at were hard and cut, and she resisted the urge to caress him.

"Out of your system yet?" she said, and her voice had gone breathy.

"Nope," he said with a slow shake of his head. "But you can move if you want."

"I'm actually, um. Surprisingly comfortable."

He sat up again, so that their bodies brushed every time either one of them moved. He smiled. Flipped her hair back over her shoulder. "Oh yeah?" he said.

Her palms slid up to his shoulders and his moved to her waist. His thumbs slipped underneath her shirt to rub her skin. "Yeah," she murmured.

He closed his eyes at the feel of her breath warm on his cheek. Opened them again. "Kiss me, Olivia." He nuzzled her jaw and ran his nose up the side of her neck.

"Juice—"

"Kiss me," he said, soft and urgent.

"I can't. We can't. You know that." Somehow her fingers had gotten tangled in his hair, but she couldn't remember when it had happened.

"I do, but kiss me anyway. Please."

"Dammit, Ortiz—!"

She tugged his head back by the hair and pressed her mouth to his, rough and demanding. He made a low noise, almost a growl, and wrapped his arms around her to hold her tight against him, and when she tried to break the kiss he brought her back. She rocked even closer, suddenly hating the clothes between them, and his hands skated up her bare thighs and over her ass.

It was all lips and teeth and tongues and hot, gasping breath. Quick, greedy gulps of air before they crashed together again, over and over, and it was rapidly becoming clear to both of them that they had to stop, had to let go, or they would end up naked on the dining room floor—which was fine for Javy and Sophie, but wouldn't do at all for Juice and Olivia.

"Fuck," she bit out, a rasping gasp, and pushed away. Stumbled backwards off his lap and pressed the back of her hand to her swollen, tingling lips as she tried to catch her breath.

He sat dazed and blinking until he finally raised shaking hands to his head and scraped them up and down his face. "Holy shit," he said.

"Uh huh."

He blew out a long breath. "We should maybe, um…"

"Not do that ever again?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod.

"Good idea. Fine with me." She turned away with a jerk. "I should go file my report about Teller."

"Olivia. Gable, I mean."

Her chin tilted toward him.

He cleared his throat and rubbed his palms against his jeans. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It was as much me as you, Ortiz. Don't worry about it. We'll just make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Okay," he said with a hasty nod. His mouth quirked. "You aren't gonna include this in your report, are you?"

She shot him a look, half amused, half frustrated. "As much as I'm sure Roosevelt would enjoy reading about our escapades…no. I thought I'd leave it out."

His expression eased into one of those big grins, and she couldn't help but smile back. "Good," he said. "We don't need the captain all up in our marriage."

She rolled her eyes as she tried to smother a laugh. "Not really married, Ortiz," she called as she walked away.

"Don't need him all up in our  _fake_  marriage, either!"

"Get back to work, slacker!"

He grinned and spun back toward the monitors. He had to shift in his seat a little, get his jeans settled more comfortably, but he thought maybe she hadn't noticed.

Right. Of course she hadn't. The way she was grinding against him and—

He cut that thought off half-formed. He hoped she was half as worked up right now as he was, because otherwise it was just insulting. She was. He was sure of it. He'd seen her face, felt the way she moved…

Not helpful. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated on the cameras and tried to push any improper thoughts about his sexy redheaded partner out of his mind.  _Capable, intelligent partner_ , he thought with a scowl.

Yeah. Like  _that_  was a turn off.


	7. The Job

Olivia waited several days before she went by Jax and Gemma Teller's shop. She was hoping to see Jax again and get a little more information about his mother or the business, because if she failed to impress Gemma and didn't get the job they'd be back at square one. She still had at least a slight in with Jax, but she was afraid if she fucked up with Gemma that door would be closed, too.

No such luck, though, and it got to the point that if she didn't go she was going to miss the chance. Juice helped her put together a resumé and list of references—all numbers that fed to the command center, with cops who knew a carburetor from a fuel pump standing around to answer in case Gemma called.

That morning Olivia dressed carefully. She'd seen pictures of Gemma, and she wanted to blend without looking like she was trying to imitate her. So: black jeans, white t-shirt, black blazer. No jewelry, but she did slide a pair of silver pins with onyx accents into her hair.

"You look great," Juice said when she appeared in the den.

"Thanks," she said with a brief smile. She pulled on a pair of black boots and checked her makeup in the foyer mirror. Juice had followed her, and he leaned in the doorway watching as she fiddled with her bag.

"Olivia," he said.

She went still. He stepped up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder. Brushed his lips briefly against her temple. It was a chaste touch, innocent even, but still it made her shiver.

"Ortiz—"

"You're gonna be fine, Gable. You know what you're doing. She can't find any sort of fault with your experience."

She spun slowly and tried to smile. "I know. And honestly confidence is at least ninety percent of this game."

"Okay." He cupped her face. "Then be confident. I mean, look, if you don't get the job so what? We'll think of something else."

"I'd rather just get the job."

"Well yeah. It'd be easier. But if you don't we'll be fine."

She nodded and grabbed his hand. Gave his fingers a squeeze before she let go. "Thanks, Ortiz. I appreciate it."

He shrugged. "Just the truth." His expression turned stern. "Now go out and get a job, woman! Someone has to be the breadwinner around here."

"Hmm. I expect supper to be waiting for me when I get home, husband mine."

"Yes'm. Spaghetti?"

She sighed as she tried to smother a grin. "You gotta learn to make a few more things, Ortiz. I'm gettin' tired of spaghetti and grilled cheese sandwiches."

"You can barely make  _cereal_ , Gable, so I don't wanna hear it."

He walked her to the door, and they lingered on the porch a moment while she pressed a kiss to his cheek—for the benefit of the neighbors, of course. "Good luck," he said.

"Thanks," she said with an easy smile. "See you later."

He watched as she pulled out of the driveway, and when the sound of the Cougar faded he noticed Tara Knowles as she left the house. Probably for the hospital. She'd been on second shift all week. He raised his hand in a wave, and after a brief hesitation she waved back.

It was something, at least.

* * *

Olivia had been over Gemma Teller's file about five hundred times. She thought she knew the best approach to take, but she also knew that while confidence might be ninety percent of this game, improv was the other ten.

"Sophie Martinez," she murmured under her breath as she climbed out of the car. A big guy with an impressive beard and long brown hair approached her. His smile was easy and affable, and despite his intimidating size she felt herself relax.

A name checked off on her mental database: Harry "Opie" Winston, one of Jax Teller's oldest friends.

"Hi," he said. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," she said with a smile that showed her dimple. "I was looking for Gemma? Jax told me I should stop by to talk to her about a job."

That gave him pause. He went still and eyed her up and down, long and slow. The look didn't feel at all sexual; just assessing. Hum. Here was someone who would bear watching.

"She's in the office," he said at last.

No questions. Had Jax mentioned her, or was he just that laconic?

"Thanks," she said and started the direction he'd indicated.

"Hey," he said.

She cast a questioning look over her shoulder.

"Gemma's got a superior bullshit detector, so just be straight with her. If Jax recommended you it goes a long way, but she's not a pushover."

"Thanks," she said again. Sometimes undercover was the fucking worst: for some reason she thought under different circumstances she and Winston could be actual friends. As it was she was here to destroy his life and the lives of everyone he cared about.

Very constructive thinking. She gave a mental sigh and knocked on the office door.

"Come in!" a voice called.

She pushed the door open and paused a moment. Gemma sat behind a desk with black reading glasses perched on her nose, and when she saw Olivia she took them off and fixed her with a long, hard look.

"Let me guess: you're the girl mechanic my son can't stop talking about."

Olivia smiled a little, but inside she was cheering. Perfect. She had more of an in with Teller than she'd thought. "I'm a girl mechanic. I don't know about the rest of it."

Gemma walked around the desk and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, get in here. Might as well take a look."

Olivia closed the door behind her and handed Gemma the folder she'd brought. "I'm Sophie Martinez. I guess Jax told you we're neighbors?"

"Um hum," she said. She'd put her glasses back on and was reading Olivia's resumé with a critical eye. She flipped the page to study the pictures. "He also said you're married, but I don't see a ring."

"I don't wear one. Rings just get in the way when you're taking an engine apart."

Gemma eyed her and went to the window. "That your car? The Cougar?"

"Yep."

"Jax told me about that, too." She shut the folder and gave it back. "Be here by nine tomorrow. If you're late you're out. If you fuck around with any of the guys, you're out. You're here to work, not suck dick."

Olivia lifted a brow. "My sentiments exactly. I'm a professional, and I've no interest in sucking anyone's dick." She smiled. "Except my husband's, of course. And then only when he's not pissing me off."

Gemma snorted. "Good luck with that, sweetheart. Sometimes I think they exist  _just_  to piss us off."

"No argument here," Olivia said. "Anyway. Don't you need my social security number or whatever?"

"We'll do all that in a day or two, if I think you're working out." She paused and fixed Olivia with a hard look. "In the meantime you'll get paid in cash and you'll be off the books. You break a leg or some shit that's on you. That gonna be a problem?"

"No," Olivia said after a moment. "I don't often break legs."

Gemma picked up on the double meaning, as Olivia had known she would. "That makes one of us. So maybe don't piss me off."

"I'm a hard worker. Punctual. I won't flake out on you. And, somehow despite the tits, I actually do know what I'm doing under the hood of a car."

"As long as you keep your tits in your top where they belong I ain't got a problem with 'em."

"Okay," Olivia said, her mouth easing into a smile. "Glad we're on the same page."

Gemma's eyes were shrewd, assessing, and Olivia knew Winston had been right: this woman had a superior bullshit detector.

Luckily Olivia was a superior bullshit artist.

"Nine AM," Gemma said at last.

"I'll be here."

* * *

Olivia could smell food cooking when she walked in the house. She'd been kidding about him having dinner ready, but she wasn't going to complain if he took her seriously. Olivia couldn't cook for shit, so she'd never pass up a free meal.

She found him in the kitchen, and for a moment she paused in the doorway to watch him. He hadn't noticed her yet. He wore an apron around his waist and was throwing seemingly random shit into a pot that bubbled on the stove.

She'd been right the first time she saw him: he was cute. Seriously cute. But it was more than that. A lot of guys were cute. Jax Teller was cute. With Juice it was…she couldn't put her finger on it. A combination of things. His looks. His smile. His humor and his brain. The attention to detail and the way he could work through a problem like Alexander cutting through the Gordian knot.

She must have made some small noise, because he spun toward her with wide, surprised eyes. "Oh shit!" he said. "How long have you been standing there?"

"I just walked in," she said. "Nice apron, Ortiz."

He looked down and scowled. "Sauce splatters," he muttered.

"Leave it," she said. "I like it."

"Yeah?" he said. His face erupted in a grin. "Were you checkin' out my ass, Gable?"

"Who, me? Never."

He spun around and shook it at her. "Yeah right don't lie."

"Oh my God," she said, smothering a laugh behind her hand. "Work it, Ortiz. I feel like I should be throwing singles."

He turned back and propped against the counter. "Don't objectify me," he said. Then, crossing his arms over his chest, "You gonna tell me how the interview went, or do I have to torture it out of you?"

"Torture is an ineffective means of obtaining information. You know that."

He hitched a shoulder. "I have ways."

Something about his tone made her go warm all over. "I just bet you do," she said, quietly.

Their eyes met across the kitchen, and for a moment the heat was so intense she almost crossed the small space to—what? Maul him, maybe. Rip all his clothes off and…

She cleared her throat and jerked her eyes away from his. "It went great," she said. "I got the job."

He could ignore what had just happened if she could. "Fuck yeah!" he said. "See? I told you you had nothing to worry about."

"Ha. Yeah, I wouldn't go that far. Gemma Teller is a piece of work."

"That's the word," he said. Then, abruptly, "Come here and have a taste."

She blinked. "Um…?"

"Of the  _sauce_ , Gable," he said with a laugh. He held out the spoon. "Just the sauce."

"Right." She took it from him and dipped it in the pot. "Not like there's anything else I'm lookin' to taste anyway."

"You keep tellin' yourself that," he said from behind her. She could hear the smirk in his voice, but she ignored it as she pivoted toward him.

She dragged her tongue over the wooden spoon in long, slow laps, her eyes steady on his face as he watched her. He swallowed hard and she handed the spoon back to him with an innocent smile.

"Yummy," she murmured. "Call me if you need me to lick anything else for you."

"Yep," he said, struggling not to stutter. "I'll be…uh. I'll be sure to do that."

"Good." She patted his cheek as she brushed by him. "I'll be back in time to eat."

"Okay," he breathed and slumped against the counter. He shook his head. How'd that gotten turned around on him so completely? He had no idea, but he knew he liked it.

A lot.


	8. Other Ways

Every day Juice asked her if she'd made any progress, and every day she had to tell him the same thing: Jax rarely came into the shop. She had no reason to go to the clubhouse. It would look suspicious if she tried, especially since she'd made such a fuss to Gemma about not wanting to suck anyone's dick.

He always got offended when she said that.

"No one's talking about sucking dick, Olivia," he finally said one night.

She snorted and dropped her pizza crust back in the box. "What do you think we're talking about here, Ortiz? A rousing game of Parcheesi?"

"Um." He frowned and picked at the peeling label on his beer bottle. "I just—are you sure this is the best way?"

"No," she said. "Of course I'm not. But this isn't a game of sureties. It's…gambles. Chances. Blind leaps. Gut work, not head work."

"I don't like doing things blindly."

She sighed. "I know you don't. That's why you're intel and I'm in the field."

"So let me get some more intel! Before you suck Teller's dick anyway."

Her brow furrowed. She shut the pizza box and gathered their plates, and when she left for the kitchen he followed her. She stood with her back to him for a time, pretending to rinse the dishes, but finally she shut the water off and gripped the counter with both hands.

"How much do you know about the Glazkov thing?" she said.

If the sudden question surprised him, he didn't show it. "Whatever's in the file. Most of the report's…" He trailed off with a shrug that she couldn't see.

"Redacted. Yeah." She took a deep breath and turned to face him. "They couldn't risk sending anyone else in after my partner's disappearance. I was on my own after that."

He chewed on his lip and slumped against the counter next to her. "I don't understand. Some Russian gamblers were so important they let a cop die? They left you on your own?"

"Mmm. They sent us in to bust a gambling ring, but within six months we realized we had something much bigger. So they left us in. Ordered us to go deeper, get closer."

"Bigger how?"

The silence lasted so long he thought she wasn't going to answer, but finally, "Human trafficking. Women and girls, anywhere from seven or eight to mid-twenties."

He gaped at her. "Why would they…seven-year-old girls? In, in—?"

"Brothels. Yeah." She shook her head and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. " _Brothel_  is a fancy word for it. Overstating just a bit. The younger the girls the shittier the setup."

"Jesus," he mumbled.

"I couldn't—I couldn't  _stop_. Wendy—Wendy Case, my partner—was dead and I was alone, but what did it matter? I'd seen how they brought those girls over. What happened to them once they got here." She angled her chin his way. "You know the hardest part about deep cover?"

He had an idea, but he asked anyway. "Hhm?"

"Not letting it all get too personal. When you catch a body or;" she waved at him; "bust a drug dealer, it's…it can be bad sometimes. Depending. But with this? If you're not in it you're dead. And we're all only human, you know?"

He watched her, studying her bright eyes, shadowed by memories, and the strained lines around her mouth. "Holy shit. You were in love him. You were in love with Andrei Glazkov."

Her head dropped and her hair fell to shroud her face. "I still did my job," she said, quietly.

"How long?"

"How long was I his mistress, or how long did I love him?"

He lifted a hand. "Either. Both. I don't know."

"Almost three years his mistress; he worked fast. Over a year…" She trailed off and their eyes met. "It wasn't like I planned it. Or wanted it or anything else. But things happen."

"You're only human," he said, echoing her words back in a hollow voice.

Her mouth twisted in a bitter moue. "Now you think I'm a whore."

"I didn't say that."

"In the most technical meaning of the word, I was. I sold myself to him for information. And I sure as fuck got paid." She said the last fiercely, and with a certain amount of pride.

"You don't have to do the same thing with Teller," he said. "There are other ways."

" _Other ways_  might get us nothing. You admitted that yourself."

"Fucking him might get us nothing!"

She glared at him. "What do you care who I fuck, Ortiz? Why do you think they send women like me into these situations? A guy like Teller looks at me and he sees big tits and a cute ass. You think the brass don't know that?"

"Olivia—"

"Just stop. Please. This is a job. That's it. Men tell their mistresses things. All of them do, no matter how secretive they think they are."

"I wouldn't know," he said with a glower. "I've never had a mistress."

"You're a fucking Boy Scout, Ortiz."

"I'm a Boy Scout because I wouldn't fuck around on my wife? Or because I care about you and don't want you to have go through the same shit all over again?"

"There's no danger of me falling in love with Jackson Teller," she snapped.

"I'm sure you said the same thing about Andrei Glazkov!"

"That was different." She turned away, shaking her head. "That was completely different."

"How?" He grabbed her arm and spun her around so that they were face to face. "How was it different, Olivia? Explain it to me because clearly I'm too fucking inexperienced in the big scary world of undercover work to understand!"

"Because I didn't have you!" she cried all in a rush.

He fell back, as surprised as if she'd slapped him.

"I didn't have—anyone  _like_  you, I mean," she said. "A partner like you."

"That isn't what you said. And you had Case."

She squared her jaw and met his eyes. Her mouth trembled. "That was different," she said. "Wendy was my partner, but not—not in the same way you are."

He stepped close again, and when she tried to look away he touched her face, lightly, to draw her eyes back to his. "I  _am_  your partner, Olivia, and I'm telling you there has to be another way. Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do," she said, no hesitation.

"Then give me a chance. Let's try it my way, and if that doesn't work—then we'll—" He sighed. "We'll see about the other."

"It's been over a month, Juice. I don't think we have time to fail."

He cupped her face in his hand. It was the first time he'd touched her, beyond the occasional brief peck on the cheek for the neighbors, since that day in the extra bedroom. The day she'd sat in his lap and he'd nearly ripped her clothes off. Her breath caught, just a little, and without even realizing she leaned into it.

"I have an idea," he said. "I think it's a good one."

She laced her fingers through his and pulled them away from her face. "Tell me," she said.

"First: are the computers there networked?"

Her brow furrowed as she thought about it. "Yeah," she said, slowly. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure. One day Jax needed something from a computer in the clubhouse and he just used the one in the office."

"Good. That's good. Their security is probably tight, but if I could get my hands on the system…"

"How?" He'd gone inside his own head. She poked him in the belly to bring him back. "How, Juice?"

He blinked down at her like he'd forgotten she was there, even though he hadn't let go of her hand. "I'll write a virus. You infect the office computer, and when it starts fucking up tell them your doting husband Javy can fix it, cheap and quick."

"What if someone around there can fix it?"

He shook his head. "No. I'll program it so it requires a code, a password. That's the only thing that'll disable it. And I'll hide it so they won't even know what to look for."

"Anti-virus software?"

He made a face like she'd just insulted his mother. "I'm not  _new_ , Gable."

Her mouth quirked at his affronted tone. "Okay, so, the Juice Ortiz Special runs amok in the office computer, then what?"

"Then, when I get there, I release a Trojan. Keystroke recorder, internet tracker, everything. It'll infect all the computers on the network and we'll be in."

"Like the Cylons did in  _Battlestar Galactica_."

"Exactly like the Cylons did in  _Battlestar Galactica_ ," he said with a brief grin.

"What if they have computers that aren't networked? Laptops or something?"

"It's possible," he said. "But eventually they'll probably network them, or move information from the network to the outside machines. It almost always happens. The virus will follow."

"You really know how to do that?" she said, more than a little impressed.

"Well, yeah," he said, ducking his head. "I was a hacker before I joined the force. Got arrested a couple times. Finally the Bureau recruited me, but I wanted to stay local. Join the white hats or go to jail for a really long time; wasn't that hard a choice when it came down to it, really."

"That's—" She bit her lip to hide a smile. "That's actually really sexy, Ortiz."

"What?"

She ran her free hand up his chest to hook around the back of his neck. Tugged him closer. For a moment his mouth hovered over hers, not quite touching. Their breath mingled, and they watched each other's eyes.

"Gable—"

"Kiss me, Juice. Please."

He hesitated, then he gave a brief, stuttering nod. "Promise you won't seduce Jackson Teller. Promise you'll give the virus a try."

A line formed between her brows and she took a step back. "We'll give the virus a try," she said.

He frowned, and when he reached for her she dodged him.

"We'll give the virus a try," she said again. "In the meantime I'm not giving up the Jax angle."

"This isn't the Glazkov case, Olivia. You have options."

"I know." She smiled, just a little. "I know, Juice. And I'm exercising them. Get your virus together and tell me what to do with it. Keep watching the house. I'll keep my eyes peeled at the garage."

She spread her hands in a shrug. "Mata Hari knew the importance of pillow talk a hundred years ago. Men haven't really changed much since then."

"Mata Hari, Olivia? Come on. She was executed as a spy for the fuckin' Germans."

"I'm not saying her story is one I want to emulate. I was making a point."

He scrubbed both hands down his face in utter frustration. "Fine!" he said. "Fine. I have a feeling we could argue about it all night and it wouldn't change anything."

"You're right," she said. She flashed a wicked grin. "And there are plenty of other things we could be doing all night that are  _much_  more fun."

His dark eyes were weary, and after a moment he shook his head. "I like you better when you're not trying so hard."

"Trying so hard to do what?"

"I don't know, Olivia." He smiled a little, sadly, and kissed her forehead. "When you figure it out let me know, okay?"

He left her there, nonplussed and bemused, and wandered away. Upstairs, probably, to work on his virus. She stared after him. Part of her wanted to call him back, demand he explain himself, but she didn't.

She knew. She hated it, and she wanted to hate him for pointing it out, but she knew.


	9. The Virus

Jax didn't come around the garage all that much, but when he did it was almost painfully obvious how hard he worked to avoid her. Olivia had a feeling he wanted her to seek him out, but this was her game. She set the rules, not Jax Teller. He would come find her eventually, and in the meantime the hook would work itself deeper.

Women threw themselves at men like Jax all the time. Olivia saw it just around the garage, when customers came in wearing their cutest, tiniest get-ups and batted their eyes at him. Days when he wasn't on made customers like that far more difficult, and when they got stuck with  _her_  instead of one of the guys they got downright surly.

She didn't mind, and she even understood it to a degree. She'd seen it often enough with Andrei. And like with Andrei, Olivia knew she had to let Jax come to her if she wanted anything more than a quickie against a wall somewhere. That would be a waste of both her time and talents. She didn't want sex: she wanted information. Getting it required time, patience, and a certain level of subtlety.

Juice was frustrated with her, but she didn't have the time or energy to think about it. She was doing everything she could to get into Gemma's good graces at work (without looking like she was sucking up), and she still had Teller himself to worry about it.

They kept to themselves: Juice usually either in his room or the guest room, constantly working on his virus and keeping track of the monitors. Olivia stayed in her room, or out in the driveway pretending to work on the car to make sure Jax got an eyeful.

Occasionally they ate together, but not often. If she ordered Chinese or pizza she'd leave some outside his door, and if he cooked something she'd find a Tupperware container with her name on it in the fridge.

Two weeks after their confrontation over Jax Teller and Andrei Glazkov, Olivia came back from the shower to find a thumb drive taped to her door.

_for you, Mata Hari, if you can bring yourself to use it_

She glared at the chicken scratch that was his handwriting and ripped the whole thing down. There were no instructions. Nothing but this smart ass note. Passive aggressive little shit.

She pounded on his door with her palm and didn't wait for him to answer before she shoved it open. He glanced up, not particularly surprised, and lifted his brows at her.

"You mind?" he said, gesturing toward her with the shorts in his hand. He was naked. She hadn't even noticed.

"Put your fucking underwear on, Ortiz," she snapped. "We've got a few things to talk about." She spun on her heel and was halfway down the hall when he caught up with her.

"Wait, Gable, Jesus. Calm down."

"Calm down. Seriously? You haven't spoken to me in two goddamn weeks, and now  _this_?" She waved the note at him and he snatched it from her. "Don't you think I might need some help with how to use your ultra-secret megaweapon? But of course you knew I would, and you knew that bullshit note would piss me the fuck off. Well here I am, Ortiz. Pissed off. Happy?"

She started away again. "Fucking hell," he muttered and long-armed it to grab her. "Just wait, okay? Wait."

"Let go of me."

"Not until you calm down. I don't feel like chasing you all over this fucking house. So just take a deep breath and we'll talk about it."

"Stop treating me like I'm being hysterical!" she cried, crowding him. "Stop acting like you didn't know exactly how this whole thing was going to play out. You smug shit!"

He cleared his throat and tried to fight a grin. "I didn't plan on us being in our underwear."

That gave her pause. She'd forgotten she wore only a t-shirt and a very small pair of panties, and of course he'd put on the black boxer briefs he'd held when she walked in on him.

"We should probably get dressed."

"I don't know," he said. He moved closer and she stepped back, until she hit the wall. He kept advancing, and she lifted her chin to glare at him. "I think we're fine just like this," he said when he was close enough to touch.

"I'm really pissed at you, Ortiz," she said, but her tone lacked conviction.

"I know you are, Gable. The Mata Hari thing was maybe a little out of line."

"Maybe? A little? Fuck you."

He sighed and dipped his chin until his forehead rested against hers. His fingers tangled in the hair near her neck, but she thought he didn't even notice. She could feel the heat of him. Could smell him, sandalwood and citrus, and a clean, just-showered scent that seemed purely Juice. She wanted to bury her face in the curve of his neck and breathe him in until she was high from it.

Lifting a cautious, tentative hand, her eyes steady on his, she slowly, gently let her fingertips come to rest on his skin, just above the waistband of his shorts. He flinched, and she started to pull away, but he shook his head.

"Sorry. Just—your hands are cold."

"No," she murmured. "You're just very  _warm_." She traced over the bump of his hipbone, her palm skimming the plane of skin before she slid it higher, along his abs that rippled under her touch.

He closed his eyes and now he had both hands in her hair, gripping hard, and as her hand moved up to his shoulder he pushed her against the wall so that they were pressed together full-length. She knew she should tell him to stop. He would. She wouldn't even have to push him away.

But he felt  _good_  and she didn't want to stop. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and enjoyed the moment: his scent. The heat. The hard lines and planes of his body fitted snug against hers.

He nuzzled her with his nose and planted a tiny kiss just behind her ear. She shivered once, hard, and her head fell back so that their eyes met.

"I'm sorry," he said, quietly.

"You don't have any reason to apologize."

"Please. Yeah I do. I've been an ass to you. I'm sorry."

"I haven't exactly been Mary Sunshine."

He brushed the tip of his nose up the side of her neck. "I don't like the idea of you with Jackson Teller," he said, his breath warm on her skin.

"I'm a grownup, Juice. I can take care of myself."

He let out a long sigh and took a step back. The rush of cool air had her shivering in a completely different way.

"I know you can," he said. He pried the thumb drive from her hand and tapped it against her wrist. "Plug it in. Run the program on it. You'll see a symbol flash three times. That's how you know it's working."

"Don't you think they'll be suspicious if someone sees me on the computer, and then suddenly it's fucked up?"

He shook his head. "It's on a twenty-four hour delay, and it's designed to cover its tracks. They won't trace it back to you." He paused. "Unless they see you on the security feed."

"Let me worry about that." She took it back and slipped past him. At her door she stopped and cut him a look over her shoulder. "The prospect doesn't thrill me, either."

"Then don't do it," he said.

"You make it sound so simple."

"It  _is_  simple, Liv. Plant the virus, then keep your head down and your eyes open. That's it. That's all you gotta do."

She bit her lip around a sardonic chuckle. "If it were that easy you wouldn't need me at all. As it is, someone's gotta be the tits of this operation."

His mouth fell open and he spun toward her, but her door shut behind her before he could say anything else. He ran shaking hands over his face and around the curve of his skull. What the hell had he been thinking? He was rock-hard and frustrated, and she had to have felt his erection. He'd tried to tell her he was different, not an asshole, not just another dickhead looking to score—and then he'd treated her like that.

"Fuck," he muttered. "Fuck fuck  _fuck_." He slammed his bedroom door and collapsed onto the bed. He laid there a minute staring at the ceiling.

Would it make things better or worse if he jerked off thinking about her? Worse. Definitely worse.

It's not like she'd ever  _know_ …

He flipped over onto his side and punched the pillow. No. No way.

With a huff of frustration he grabbed his laptop. He'd just use porn like a regular creeper. Maybe a cute redhead with big—

Jesus. He had more of a problem than he'd realized, and he'd known for a while she was a really big fucking problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short, so there's a small chance I'll publish ch10 today, too. Just because.


	10. Mata Hari

"Hey, there you are."

Olivia was bent over a car switching out spark plugs, and at the sound of the familiar voice she took her time straightening. She stretched, rubbing the small of her back, and turned toward him with a little smile.

"Jax," she said, her voice low and sweet. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Very strange," he said with a grin of agreement. He wandered over to her work bench and poked around among her tools a moment. Then, "So. How's it workin' out?"

She stripped off her thick black latex gloves and dropped them in the trash. "It's great," she said. "Your mom finally put me on the payroll, so I guess that's a good sign."

"Only took, what, three weeks?"

"A month," she said with a shrug.

"You're lucky. Took the last guy two."

"Hhmm." She pulled the pins out of her hair and ran a hand through it. "I'm sure it's because you vouched for me. Otherwise it probably would've taken three." She turned her back on him again and gathered her hair in a tail at the nape of her neck. His fingers on her arm stopped her.

"Leave it down. If you're done, I mean."

She lifted a brow at him. "You my fashion consultant or my boss?"

He grinned, dimples flashing. "Maybe both?"

"Well in that case." She dropped her arms to let the hair tumble around her shoulders, and she recognized the look in his eyes. Time to start reeling.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "You got time for a beer before you head out? Over in the clubhouse, I mean."

"Um." She bit her lip and her eyes flicked away. "Sure," she said. "I told Javy I might be late tonight."

"Yeah? Why'd you do that?"

"I don't know, Jackson," she said. "Maybe I was hoping someone would ask me to have a beer with him."

"Glad I did, then," he said, his voice softening as he studied her.

"Me too." Her mouth curved and she took a step back. "Give me a sec, okay? I'll meet you over there."

"Sure," he said. "Five minutes or I come looking."

"Make it ten," she said.

"Ten," he agreed with a nod.

He sauntered out, and she waited until the door shut behind him before she crept toward the office. All dark. She shut the bay doors, locked them, and then did the same for the one to the lot. Back at the office she pulled out her lock picks and got to work. It was simple, way too simple for a place like this, and in just a few seconds she was in.

She checked the outer door, then hurried to the computer. Plugged in the thumb drive Juice had given her and booted it up. "Come on," she muttered. "Jesus. Slow-ass thing."

Finally the Windows chimes sounded and the desktop icons appeared. She double-clicked on the one for the thumb drive and started the program there. A symbol flashed in the corner of the screen. Once. Twice. A third time. Just like Juice had said. She unplugged it, shut the machine down, and left the office again, carefully locking the door behind her.

It had been a risk. A huge risk. She knew the security cameras didn't actually record anything, but if someone had been watching the monitors…

Well. She just had to hope they hadn't been. Otherwise she was dead, and Juice with her, probably. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text:

_Hi, hon. Late tonight, but I dropped your package at the post office. xoxo talk soon._

The whole thing had taken less than five minutes. She trusted Juice, and she believed that his plan could work…but she wasn't the type to leave all her eggs in one basket. Not in this line of work.

With that in mind she stripped off her work smock, ran a brush through her hair, and dabbed a bit of perfume behind her ears. Smelling like a garage wasn't super sexy, in general, though maybe a man who owned one would think differently. She made it to the clubhouse with two minutes to spare, and when he saw her come through the door his heated look told her the effort had been worth it.

"Hey," he said. "You're early."

She shrugged and noticed him watching the way her breasts moved under her tight tank top. "It's rude to keep someone waiting," she said. "Plus I was promised a beer."

"If you'd rather have somethin' else we've got…whatever. Tequila. Vodka."

She lifted a brow. "You gonna offer me a Bud Light next? Bourbon, neat."

He grinned. "My bad," he said. "I shoulda known a badass ball buster like you wouldn't drink any goddamn vodka."

"I like vodka," she said. "I can drink a martini as well as any James Bond wannabe. Just, if I have a choice…" She trailed off and grinned. "And what makes you think I'm a badass ball buster?"

"Just a feelin'," he said. He went behind the bar and poured her drink, then propped his elbows on the wood.

She took a sip and swallowed slowly. Touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip and watched his pupils go big. "Good," she murmured. "Thanks."

She set the glass down and ran her finger around the rim. "I'm not a ball buster," she said. "I just like to fix cars and  _don't_  like to take shit."

He ducked his head as he huffed out a laugh. "That's right. You're just a sweet girl with a mean streak."

"Sweet?" She tilted forward to make sure he had a good view down her top. "I wouldn't go that far. There's not much sweet about me, ball buster or not."

His eyes traced a line from her full mouth, down the white column of her throat, to the swell of her breasts above her shirt, then slowly back up again. "I don't know about that," he said after a long moment. "I bet there's a whole lot sweet about you."

She chuckled and sat back. "Maybe you're right. I haven't had any complaints so far."

His eyes flicked up, over their heads, and she knew he was thinking about the security cameras. For a split second her blood ran cold: if he were worried about them did that mean they had someone watching the monitors all the time?

He smiled at her, charming and sexy. "I know it's quiet in here now, but it's gonna start gettin' crowded pretty soon. You wanna go somewhere a little more private?"

It was what she'd been hoping for, of course, but for just a second she hesitated. Then, before he could notice, she snapped back into character and flashed him a warm smile. "Sure," she said, biting her lip a little. "We can continue our conversation from the other day."

"The other day?" he said. He rested a hand on the small of her back as she slipped off the stool.

"Uh huh," she said, all innocence. "About my car?"

"Ohh," he said as he led her down the hall. "That conversation. Yeah, of course."

He opened a door and she stepped into…a bedroom. Well. He wasn't wasting any time. She wandered deeper into the room as he shut the door behind them.

"I didn't know these were here," she said.

"Yeah. In case we need to crash here for whatever reason."

_Or fuck an employee without your wife finding out_ , she thought.

"You're welcome to use the dorms if you ever need to. Like, I don't know. If things are gettin' too rough at home."

Her brow furrowed a little and she took a sip of her drink. "It's not like that, really. He just—he slept with someone else. Lost his job. I mean, he works from home now, but—" She waved a hand. "Never mind. You don't want to hear about all that."

"No," he said. He sat on the edge of the bed and gestured for her to join him. "It's cool. Sometimes you just need someone to talk to."

She sank down next to him. "I can't imagine that's a problem you have. You've got your wife. Your mom. Your buddies around here."

"I don't know," he said. "Sometimes it's good to get a different point of view. Someone without a stake in shit, you know?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling softly. "I get that."

She looked away, letting her hair fall to cover her face, and when she glanced back her expression was tentative. "I don't have a stake in shit. I mean, if you ever need…?" She trailed off and left the bait to dangle.

Gently he took the glass from her and finished off the bourbon in it before he set it aside. He lifted a hand to card through her hair, and scooted closer. "You gonna give me what I need, Sophie?" he said in a rough whisper.

"I guess that depends," she said. "What exactly do you need, Jax?"

He grinned and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "You, baby. Let me taste how sweet you are."

It made her shiver in spite of herself. She turned her head and their lips met, easy at first, then harder as he pulled her against him. Her arms went around his neck and his tongue dipped into her mouth. She met it eagerly, and he made a rasping, pleasure-soaked little noise when her fingers tangled in his hair.

He pressed her back onto the bed, his hands skating along her sides, and as he bit her jaw she let out a sharp breath that made him grin. He kissed his way down her neck, sucking hard as he went, and bright red marks bloomed in his wake.

"You got such gorgeous skin, Sophie. Been wantin' to get my hands on you since that day in your driveway. You remember? You were shakin' your ass at me in those tiny little shorts."

She smirked. "What makes you think I was shaking my ass at you? I might've just been shaking my ass, period. For the hell of it."

"Right," he said with a laugh. "You keep tellin' yourself that, darlin'."

He rucked her shirt up and kissed her belly, then trailed his tongue in a line from the waist of her jeans to just beneath her breasts. She shuddered at the scrape of his beard, and her head fell back, her eyes squeezed shut, as he nudged her top up even higher. Her bra was simple white lace, but judging by his reaction it worked for him.

His lips closed around her nipple and he sucked. She gasped, and when she opened her eyes she saw her own face staring back at her. There was a mirror above the bed. Of course. She watched him kiss over the curve of her breast, his fingers trailing down to unfasten her jeans, and in that moment the world around her seemed to crystalize.

What the fuck was she doing?

"Jax, wait." She pressed a hand to his head. "Jax, stop. We can't."

"Wha…?" He lifted his chin, his face scrunched in confusion. He wasn't used to women stopping him at this point. "What's wrong, babe?"

She pushed him off her and grabbed her shirt (when had she lost that, exactly?). "I'm sorry. I can't do this. You're my boss. My  _married_  boss. And I really am trying to work things out with my husband. I should never—" She put on her sweetest, most innocent expression. "Please don't be mad."

For a moment he seemed to struggle with it, but then his expression smoothed. "Of course not, sweetheart," he said. He brushed a hand through her hair and smiled a little. "You're probably right anyway. It's not a great idea to sleep with an employee."

"Thank you for understanding," she said. She kissed his cheek. "You're so great, and if things were different—" She broke off and lifted her hands in a helpless shrug.

"I get it." He helped straighten her clothes. "Come on," he said. "I'll walk you out."

They passed Opie on their way out, and at his curious look Jax shook his head. He went back to his drink without a word. Olivia wondered what Jax would tell him. The truth, she hoped, but it didn't matter that much either way. If it assuaged Jax Teller's ego to have people believe they'd fucked, then fine. As long as it didn't get her in trouble with Gemma.

To that end… "Um, so. About your mom."

He glanced at her, a frown on his brow. "What about her?"

"When she hired me I promised her I wasn't here to suck dick."

"What?" he said, exploding in a brief, surprised laugh. "Jesus."

"Yeah, well, it was a concern she had. Point being, maybe let's not tell her about tonight?"

They'd reached her car by then. He took the keys from her and unlocked the door, then held it open for her. "That's fine, Sophie. It's not really my mom's business who does or doesn't suck my dick anyway."

"Thanks, Jackson," she said. She took her keys from him and climbed in the car. "And thanks for being cool. I'm sorry again."

He shrugged. "Don't sweat it, babe. See you tomorrow?"

"Yep," she said. "If you're around."

He grinned and pushed away from the car. "Oh I will be," he said and winked.

She started the engine and drove away, tossing him a brief wave before she turned out. What had that meant? She hauled in a sigh and let it out slowly. Apparently Jackson Teller was the kind of guy who took a  _no_  as a challenge.

Well. At least it meant she hadn't burned the bridge. If Juice's virus failed she could always go back to plan A.

Though, as cute as Jax was (and he really  _was_  cute, and a great kisser), that plan held less appeal than it ever had. She sighed again and tried not to think of her partner's earnest brown eyes or his big sweet grin. It had nothing to do with Ortiz.

Nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh this chapter was so hard to write Jax/Olivia is like serious notp territory for me


	11. After

Juice was in the den on his laptop when Olivia got home. He glanced up, seemingly nonchalant, and then went back to what he was doing.

"Expected you later," he said. "Or is the infamous Jackson Teller a five minute man?"

"There's no need to be crude, Ortiz," she said. She hung her jacket in the foyer closet and paused a moment in the doorway. The idea of sitting down next to him was suddenly daunting. She didn't want to have this conversation. At all. "Want a beer?"

"Yeah," he said. "I guess."

She nodded and headed toward the kitchen, but he set his computer aside and followed her. He hovered behind her, angry for a reason he couldn't quite name. Or wouldn't, because it was stupid. They'd talked about it. He'd known her plan. He'd known the second he got her text what she had in mind.

"I was going to bring it to you," she said without turning around.

He made a frustrated noise and shut the refrigerator door when she opened it. She spun toward him with a frown. "What? I thought you wanted a beer."

He lifted her chin to get a look at the marks on her neck, and she jerked away, suddenly furious.

"Don't you dare look at me like that," she hissed.

"Like what? You text to say you're gonna be late, then you walk in covered in hickeys. How do you expect me to look at you?"

"Jesus Christ, Ortiz, we aren't  _actually_  married!" She shoved past him and stormed up the stairs, and he chased after her.

"I know that, Olivia. You think I don't know that? It doesn't mean I don't care about you, or worry. You're my partner. It's my job to look out for you."

She paused at the door to her room and shook her head. "I don't need you to worry. I can take care of myself. And I think we both know partners aren't all they're cut out to be."

The door shut behind her with a final sort of thud, and he stared at it, at a loss.

Normally he respected her space. When this whole thing had started they'd been complete strangers, and he knew how important it was that they maintain a certain distance. But he was angry, and the conversation wasn't over. He was tired of her always calling the shots between them.

He shoved into her room, startling her. She had her shirt half over her head, and when she saw him she yanked it back down again.

"What the fuck?" she cried. "Ever heard of  _knocking_?"

He ignored her. "If you want to fuck Jackson Teller, I'm not going to stop you, but you should know I think it's a huge mistake. You're better than that. You  _deserve_  better than that. When I came up with this idea I never meant—and now that I know you I definitely didn't mean—" He made an impatient gesture. "There are other ways to get what we need. You planted the virus. Give it a chance to work!"

"Goddammit, Ortiz, I didn't fuck Jackson Teller!"

His mouth fell open. "What? But the—the…" He waved at her neck, dumbfounded.

She sighed and scrubbed her hands over her face before she sank down on the edge of the bed. "I had him," she said. She flicked her fingers toward her throat. "Obviously. I didn't do this to myself. We easily  _could_  have fucked."

He hesitated a moment, then slowly eased down next to her. "What happened? He didn't—he didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No." She managed a brief smile. "No, nothing like that. We kissed. It was actually—I mean it was fine. Nice, even. Then we were on the bed, and…I don't know. I couldn't do it. I stopped him, and to his credit he was a perfect gentleman about it. Walked me to my car, even."

"Forgive me if I don't applaud Jackson Teller for not  _raping_  you, Olivia."

She made a face at him. "It wasn't like that. I said no, he stopped. Period. I'm not saying he's some saint or he deserves a medal—I just mean there are guys, especially guys in his position, who wouldn't have. That's all."

He decided to let that lie. "Why did you stop him?" he said, quietly.

"I don't know."

"Look at me, Olivia," he said, his voice soft and urgent.

"Juice, it's not—"

"Look at me."

She did, finally, and her expression was as vulnerable as he'd ever seen. "I planted the virus. I want it to work."

"I do too," he said. He scooted a tiny bit closer and brushed his fingers against the back of her hand. "Why did you stop him?"

"He's not who I wanted to be kissing," she blurted.

He tried not to smile. "Who, then?"

"Don't be an asshole," she said.

"I can't believe he gave you hickeys," he said with a scowl.

"Oh my God get over it."

He ran his thumb along her arm, then over the marks on her neck. "I should be the one giving you hickeys," he said, low and warm. "The only one."

She shivered, but tried to cover it with a laugh. "Not really married, Ortiz," she murmured.

"I don't give a fuck, Liv. I don't want him even looking at you. The  _last_  thing I want is him touching you."

"Don't you think it's my decision who touches me?"

He let out a sigh. She was probably going to punch him any minute. He might even deserve it. "Of course it is." He started to move away, but she grabbed his hand.

"Good," she said. "Then it's you. I want you."

"Please tell me you're not messing with me, because if you are—"

"Shut up, Juice, please," she said and kissed him.

She curled her fingers in his t-shirt and for a moment he had no idea what to do with his hands. Finally they settled, one on her shoulder and the other tangled in her hair. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth and rubbed his tongue across it, and when she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body against his he groaned and somehow managed to break away.

He rested his forehead against hers and hauled in a gasping, gulping breath. "Baby, we can't. I can't. I want you—God knows I want you so bad it fuckin' hurts—but not like this."

"Why? Because you're not the first man I've kissed tonight?"

He closed his eyes a moment. "That's part of it, but not for the reason you're thinking. What happened with you and Jax, it doesn't change anything. It doesn't change how I feel about you."

She ran her fingertips along his jaw. "How do you feel? Tell me, Juan Carlos."

"I—I like you. I care about you." He dropped her eyes. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to say, but he couldn't tell her the full truth. It was too much, and too inappropriate. "I want you," he finally said.

"Okay. I feel all of that about you, too. It's why I stopped him. It's why I couldn't go through with it. You have to know that, Juice."

"It's nice to hear," he said with a sweet smile. "I'd hoped that was why, but…it's nice to hear."

"So tell me what's wrong."

He rubbed his thumb across her mouth. "You're upset. It's been a weird day. I just don't think it should happen this way." He paused and dropped her eyes. "If it happens. If you want it to happen."

"I want it to happen," she murmured.

"Yeah," he said. "Me too."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "All right," she said. "I'm gonna go take a shower. Please don't leave. Stay in here with me tonight. Nothing has to happen. I just—I don't really want to be alone." She chewed her lip, suddenly unsure. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, Liv. I'd really like that."

"Okay," she said. She kissed him, soft and easy. "I'll be back."

"Okay," he said. When she started away he grabbed her hand and tugged her back. She tumbled into his lap, giggling, and he ran his hands through her hair as their lips met.

"I'll be right back," she said.

"I know. You said that." He kissed her again.

"You have to let me go."

"In a minute," he mumbled against her mouth.

It was another twenty minutes before she finally made it to the shower, but somehow she didn't mind.

* * *

For a split second before she opened her eyes she thought she'd gone through with it and was snuggled in bed next to Jackson Teller. But then everything that had happened last night came rushing back and she recognized Juice's familiar sandalwood-and-citrus scent. She relaxed, more relieved than she would've thought possible, and nestled in closer.

He lifted his head and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "You okay?" he said, his voice hazy with sleep.

"Yeah," she said. She laced her fingers through his and pulled his arm more tightly around her. "Just forgot where I was for a sec. It's a danger in this line of work."

"You're here with me," he murmured. His lips brushed her ear and his breath was warm across her cheek. "You're right where you belong."

"Ortiz—"

"Hush. Don't shatter my illusions just yet."

She laughed. "I wasn't going to," she said. "I was just wondering what exactly that is digging into my ass."

"Um. Well, see, sometimes when a boy really really likes a girl…"

"Shut up, you idiot," she said.

"You're so mean." He bit her neck and she giggled.

"You don't seem to mind too much," she said, wiggling against him.

He hissed. "Liv, please. I can only take so much."

She turned over to face him and he let out a little sigh of relief. "When did you start calling me  _Liv_?"

"I don't know," he said. "If you don't like it I can—"

"No," she said. "I do."

He brushed her hair back from her face and stroked his thumb along her jaw. "What time do you have to be at work?"

She sat up a little to get a look over his shoulder at the clock. "Two hours."

"Hhhmm. That might be enough time."

"There's only one five minute man in this neighborhood, and it's not Juice Ortiz," she said with a smirk.

"Exactly," he said. He rolled over on top of her and settled between her legs. She made a soft noise and shifted, and his forehead fell to rest on her shoulder. "We don't have to do anything. I can move."

"Do you want to move?"

"God no."

"Good. Then don't." She carded her fingers through his hair and their mouths met, slow and easy. "I knew you were trouble the first time I saw you," she whispered.

"Oh yeah?" He brushed his nose against hers and slid his hand under her shirt to caress the soft skin over her ribs.

"Mmhhmm. You were leaning against the wall, cocky as all fuck." She trailed her fingers down the back of his neck and along his spine.

He nipped at her jaw until her head fell back, then he traced a line of kisses down her throat. "You were wearing that top. The silk one. Did you bring that top with you?"

"No," she said. The muscles in his back rippled as she pressed her palms against him. "It didn't really seem Sophie's style."

"That's too bad." He sucked lightly at her collarbones. "I like that top."

"You wanna hear the story or not, Ortiz?"

"Yep," he said, kissing along the curve of her shoulder. "I was leaning against the wall, handsome as all fuck."

"Oh my God," she said on a laugh. "You're impossible."

"It's part of my charm," he said. "Just like arguing with every single thing I say is part of yours."

Her brow furrowed. "I don't argue with  _everything_  you say."

"Case in point."

"Juice!"

"Mmmm." He kissed her just beneath the ear. "Say it again."

"Get off me, you idiot!"

"Aw, baby, I haven't even started yet."

She was giggling uncontrollably by that point, her entire body shaking with laughter. He leaned back and watched as her face turned red and tears rolled down her cheeks.

"What?" she said between gasps. "What is so damn  _interesting_?"

He shook his head. "Just you," he said. He kissed away her happy tears and laced his fingers in her hair. She stilled, all of a sudden, and the intensity on his face made her bite her lip. "You're so beautiful," he mumbled. "First time you smiled at me I thought you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

"What?" she said again.

"Um." He flashed a sheepish grin. "I knew you were trouble, too. That's all."

"Uh huh," he said. "Hence that nonsense with the engagement story."

"You loved that engagement story."

She rolled her eyes and shoved at his shoulder until he flipped onto his back.

"Admit it," he said. "Doesn't do any good to argue."

"Yes!" she said. "Yeah, Ortiz, I fucking loved it."

He curled an arm under his head and smirked. "I knew it."

She smacked him on the chest with the back of her hand. "No one likes  _smug_ , Juan Carlos."

He grabbed her hand before she could pull it away again and kissed the tips of her fingers. "But you like me."

"Hum." She reclaimed her hand and turned over onto her stomach. "There are things about you I like."

"Oh?" He flipped over next to her and nudged her with his shoulder. "Like what?"

"I don't know," she said. She cut him a look. "Your smile's okay."

"Okay?"

"Not bad."

He kissed her shoulder, the exact spot that made her shiver. How'd he know that already?

"I like your butt."

"My butt?" he said, grinning.

"Yup. It's a cute butt."

He patted her ass. "I like yours too."

"I know you do," she said. "You check it out every chance you get."

He snorted. "You complaining?"

"Not really, no."

He nuzzled her shoulder in the same spot he'd kissed. "Olivia—"

Something about his tone made her nervous, and she pulled away. "Are you hungry? I'm starving. I didn't have supper last night."

"Me neither," he said. He rolled out of bed and waved her back down. "Stay here. I'll go find us something."

She blinked. "I don't mind—"

"I know." He leaned over her and braced his hands on either side of her head. "Just let me do something nice for you, okay? Because I want to."

Her mouth curved, just a little. "Okay," she said.

He kissed her, lingering over it, but when she reached up to pull him back down he stepped away. "Food," he said. "I'll be back."

"I'll be here," she said.

With a quick, charming grin over his shoulder, he disappeared into the hall. She laughed a little and stretched. They hadn't had sex last night. There hadn't been anything more than some light petting and kissing. A lot of kissing.

So why did she feel as good as if she'd had about five super-intense orgasms? Well. Maybe not quite  _that_  good, because there was still a lot of leftover  _hot-guy-in-my-bed-who's-touching-me-but-not-making-me-come_  tension. She sighed and turned onto her stomach. Curled her arms around her pillow and bit her lip around a stupid happy smile.

She could smell something cooking. Bacon, maybe? Jesus he was making bacon. He hadn't even gotten laid and he was making her breakfast in bed. Though of course he had every reason to think he  _would_  get laid, especially if he brought her breakfast in bed.

She rolled her eyes and wondered what it was like to  _not_  question the motives of everyone around you. It must be nice.

The sound of a ringing phone brought her head up off the pillow. It wasn't Sophie's phone. It was her emergency line. Like three people had that number, and none of them would be calling it unless something serious was going down.

She hauled herself out of bed and pulled her underwear drawer out. Flipped it over and freed the phone from its tape. Chibs. Why would Chibs be calling her at eight on a Tuesday morning?

"Gable," she said.

"One hour. Point B."

"What—"

"Can you be there?"

She bit her lip and went to the window. Peeked out through the curtains and took a long look at the quiet street. What was with this James Bond shit? "Yeah. I'll be there."

"Good." There was a brief hesitation. Then, "Get rid of this phone."

"Get rid—?" But she knew he was gone. She stared down at the phone with a frown of consternation.  _Rendezvous_  points? What the fuck?

She heard the sound of dishes rattling in the hall. Moving fast, she yanked the battery from the back of the phone and tucked the SIM card into the waist of her panties. The door behind her opened, and she already had the phone's shell back in the drawer and the drawer halfway into the dresser.

"What's up?" Juice said.

She spun toward him with a smile. "Sorry. I'm such an idiot. I forgot I'm actually opening today, and if I'm late it'll look bad after last night, not to mention Gemma might scalp me."

"Oh," he said. He looked down at the breakfast tray in his arms. "No time to eat?"

"No, babe. Sorry." She dressed quickly, grabbed a slice of toast and a few pieces of bacon, and dropped a kiss on his cheek. "See you tonight?"

"Yeah," he said. "Hey, wait."

"Hm?"

He smiled and set the tray aside. Hooked his fingers in her belt loops and pulled her against him. "I want a real kiss."

"Demanding," she said.

"Yup," he said as he lowered his mouth to hers. "I really the fuck am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided I was tired of super short chapters, so I combined chs 11 and 12.


	12. Point B

Point B was a tiny coffee shop made from an old double decker bus, the kind that ferried tourists around London. The only seating was on the upper level, and they served various types of coffee drinks and fresh pastry (baked off-site). Their cinnamon crumb cake was one of Olivia's weaknesses.

It was called, in a true burst of inspiration, Café Brittanica.

Olivia bought two slices of cake and a cappuccino and climbed the tight spiral stairs to the upper deck. She found a table near the back, squeezed into the corner, and sat down to wait. She wore a hat over her bright hair, and sunglasses to cover her eyes, but she knew Chibs would have no trouble finding her.

When he finally showed up she slid a plate and a fork across the table. He grimaced his thanks and settled into the chair.

"I can't believe you chose this place," she said. "It's English themed."

"Aye, well, point A wasn't viable." He wore a gray felt hat that he took off and dropped onto the table between them.

"Why the fuck are you talking like you're in Her Majesty's Secret Service? What's going on?"

He added a dollop of cream to his coffee and stirred it. She waited him out, fingers drumming against her porcelain coffee cup. He took a brief sip, nodded in satisfaction, and leaned forward on his elbows.

His dark eyes were intense on hers, and she shifted under his scrutiny.

"You're kind of scaring me, Chibs," she said.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the cloak and dagger and the double talk." He reached for her hand and caught it in his. "Ollie, we've got good reason to believe you've been made."

Her immediate reaction was to laugh. But his expression was so grave the humor died almost instantly. Panic replaced it, for a second, then a sort of quiet calm.

"How? Why am I still alive?"

He sighed and scrubbed his free hand over his chin. "Evidence points to a mole. You've been made the whole time. It's all been bullshit, from the beginning. They're playing you. All of them."

She tugged out of his grip and gave a slow shake of her head. "We."

"Hmm?" he said.

" _We've_  been made the whole time. They've been playing  _us_. That's what you mean, right? Ortiz and I."

He ducked his head and suddenly became very absorbed in his cake.

"Chibs," she said. Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard before she tried again. "Chibs, tell me you fucking well mean  _we_."

He let out a long breath. "No, darlin'," he said. "As best we can tell, Ortiz is the mole."

She shoved back from the table so hard their drinks sloshed. He jumped away from the scalding liquid with a brief cry, and when people around them looked over in alarm he waved them away.

"Bee," he said. "Lass hates bees."

They waited until no one was paying attention before she leaned in. "What the fuck, Telford?" she hissed. "You can't just say things like that. Ortiz is my partner. He's had my back every step of the way. This whole thing was his idea!"

"Aye," he said, grimly. "We're not entirely sure what the endgame is, but we do know they've been steps ahead of us with every move we make. We move you in next door: they stop meeting at Teller's house. We get you in the shop: they relocate all their guns, and we've got no idea where."

"I don't understand," she said on a breath. "This isn't possible. It's just  _not_!"

"What's been happenin' with Jax?"

The seeming change of subject threw her. She rubbed at her forehead and tried to gather her scattered thoughts. Her brain refused to work. She kept seeing Juice. The way he smiled at her. How he'd touched her last night, and this morning. It couldn't have been a lie. There was no way.

"Um," she finally managed. "I got close. Last night."

"Close? Andrei Glazkov close?"

She scowled a little. "Yes, sort of. But nothing really happened. I stopped it."

He lifted a brow. "Do you have a backup plan?"

"It was Juice's," she said. She felt exhausted, like a giant boulder had been dropped on her. Even breathing was painful.

" _Juice_ , aye?" He gave her a long, assessing look.

She flicked her fingers. "Get off it," she said. "He's the one who talked me out of sleeping with Teller. He wanted us to give his plan a chance. Why would he give a damn who I fuck if he's some mole? It's not like Jax would tell me anything I could use. If anything it would be an advantage! He could feed me false intel and I'd eat that shit up like ice cream."

"His plan. The virus?"

"Yeah," she said. She wasn't surprised he knew; Juice was always very thorough with his reports. "I planted it yesterday. The first part, I mean. It has to disable to computers so Juice can come in and plant the second part."

"Aye."

"So what—fuck this is so fucked up, Chibs. I can't believe it. I  _can't_."

He soothed his fingers over the back of her hand. "We aren't one hundred percent sure. It's why we need you."

"You want me to spy on my fucking partner."

"Aye, lass. That's the long and short of it." He tapped a fingertip against the table. "Think of it this way: you say he can't be guilty. Prove it."

"Why Ortiz, though? Couldn't it be anyone on the task force? Anyone who has access to our reports?"

"It's possible," he said in a tone that said it wasn't, very. "It's the timing of things is all. It…raises suspicions."

"And you think this virus of his is total bullshit?"

"Perhaps. Maybe something else. Ortiz is a hacker. Who knows what kind of information he might have access to."

"Jesus," she whispered.

"You really had no idea."

"Of course I didn't! Why would I?"

"Olivia, how long have we known each other?"

She rubbed a hand over her eyes. "Please don't ask me ridiculous questions right now, Chibs. I'm not in the mood."

"Do you think I'd lie to you?"

"No," she said. "Of course I don't. But you said yourself you aren't sure."

"Aye. That's why I'm bringin' it to you first. Find what we need, either to clear him or…not. But find it."

"You didn't answer my question."

His head tilted.

"Why aren't I dead? Why would the Tellers allow me so close?"

He bared his teeth in what was probably meant to be a smile. "Keep your friends close, lass, but your enemies closer."

"Right," she said. Just for something to do she took a bite of cake, but the taste of it made her nauseous. She knew then she'd never, ever be able to eat cinnamon crumb cake again. She pushed her plate away and raked her hair back from her face with both hands. "This is surreal, Chibs. I can't—I can't get my brain around it."

There was a long quiet moment while he sipped his coffee and studied her through shrewd eyes. They  _had_  known each other a long time, and he remembered the way she'd been in the days after the Glazkov takedown.

"Have you slept with him?" he said.

"Teller? No, I told you that. I stopped it."

"Not Teller, Ollie."

She glared down at her cake and stabbed at it with her fork. "No, Telford. I'm not fucking my partner." Her scowl cut to him. "Either of them."

He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "It was just a question, and I think a reasonable one, considering your reaction."

"Oh my God." Her fork hit the plate with a clatter. "I would react the same way if someone came to me with claims about you. Or any other partner I've had over the years." She waved between them. "It's a relationship built on  _trust_ , Filip. I trust Ortiz—or I did. Now you're telling me that all my instincts, everything my gut has been telling me for the past two months, is wrong.  _Now_  what the fuck am I supposed to trust?"

"Trust me, Olivia. I've never lied to you and I never will. I told you we don't know for sure. Stay steady. Don't change what you're doing. You know how to do this."

"On fucking criminals! Not someone who's supposed to be my—to be on my side."

"If he's a mole he  _is_  a criminal." He sighed again and pushed himself to his feet. Dropped his hat onto his head and squeezed her shoulder. "I have faith in you."

And with that he left her there to wrestle with it as best she could.

* * *

That night they sat across the table from each other and had a nice dinner, like an actual married couple might do. She asked him to explain the virus in more detail and his face lit up like a Christmas tree. When he got excited he used his hands. She liked his hands. She liked how enthusiastic he was about his work.

Sweet, smart, slightly bumbling guy with a possessive streak. They could've lifted that shit straight out of her last psych eval. She smiled and nodded and made the appropriate noises of interest, but inside her mind was working.

She didn't believe words. Words were bullshit and anyone could lie. But a touch? A kiss? Those she believed. She always had. It was harder to lie with a touch.

Except…isn't that what she did? She'd done it for two years with Andrei before she'd finally given in and admitted she loved him and the touches had become real. And the other night, with Jax. He'd believed she wanted him.

Egocentric, lust-driven men, she thought with an internal snort.

But then she paused. Was that what she was? Egocentric and lust-driven? She remembered the oh-so-sweet engagement story, and how softly he'd kissed her. He'd let her come to him. Then the next time, he'd checked her out in those shorts, but he'd been so cute about it…and when she sat on his lap he'd waited until  _she_  initiated things even though she'd left the invitation wide open.

Every time they'd touched or kissed he'd pulled away. She'd been the one pressing forward. Asking for more. Last night in bed she would have had sex with him, but he seemed content with kissing and talking until they fell asleep, and even that morning when she'd woken up with his cock against her ass he hadn't pushed it.

Her hands were suddenly shaking so hard she dropped her fork. Holy shit had he been  _playing_  her? Playing her like she'd played Andrei? Like she'd planned to play Jackson Teller?

"Olivia?" he said, breaking off his narrative and reaching for her with a concerned frown. "Liv, what's wrong?"

She jerked back before he could touch her, then tried to cover it with a shiver. "Sorry. Sorry, I—my head suddenly—I think I need to lie down."

"Yeah," he said. He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, but she waved him down.

"It's fine. I'm okay. I get migraines sometimes. I just need a dark room and a cool washcloth."

"Go upstairs. I'll get the washcloth. Do you take anything for them?"

"It's in my room."

"I'll bring some water, too. Go lie down before it gets worse."

She nodded and struggled to find a smile, then spun and hurried up the stairs. She got the door to her room shut behind her before she slumped against it and clamped both hands over her mouth to muffle her screams.

No. No. It wasn't possible. He was so—so—

So everything she'd ever wanted. Just like she'd made herself everything Andrei wanted, and had been working on the same thing with Jax.

"Oh God," she whispered on a sob. "Oh my God."

She pressed her hands to her face and struggled to breathe. Falling apart wasn't going to help anything. It would just get her dead. Slowly calm settled over her again. She lifted her head and studied her face in the mirror.

She looked wrecked, but then she had claimed she was coming down with a migraine. And the room would be dark when he poked his head in. She flicked off the lights, stripped down to her shirt and underwear, and crawled into bed.

Keep it cool. Keep it calm. She had no proof he was the mole, and until she did she couldn't risk trying to expose him. If she were wrong her career would be ruined. His too, maybe, because that was a hard stain to come back from.

She would watch him. Study him. He couldn't lie to her forever. A crack would show itself eventually, and when it did she'd be ready for it.


	13. A Battlefield

It was the second morning in a row she'd woken up with Juice Ortiz' dick against her ass, and for the second morning in a row it took her several heartbeats to remember the reality of her situation. Her first thought, before she opened her eyes, was how good he smelled, and how glad she was she'd asked him to sleep in her room last night.

But then it all came back, and it took every ounce of her considerable self control not to flip over and knee him in the balls.

Instead she took a deep, calming breath, and she was ready when she felt him stir.

"Mmm," he said. "Sorry."

That surprised her. "What for?" she said.

He shifted. "That," he said. "Again."

"Ohhh." She turned toward him and slid her hand down his bare chest. "I'm sure I could take care of that for you."

"I'm sure you could," he said, catching her wrist, "but if anyone is making anyone come here, it's me for you."

"Promises, promises," she murmured.

He rolled over on top of her and kissed her long and slow. "Gimme a chance, baby," he said as he nipped her lips with his. "Tell me what you want. You want me to eat your pussy? Finger you? Both at the same time? Just tell me. Anything you want."

She let out a rough, shuddering breath. All of this might be easier if they just fucked and got it over with. As it was the tension was nearly killing her, and frankly it was distracting. She didn't want anything as intimate as his mouth on her pussy, though. A quick fuck she could handle: in and out and she'd fake it and that'd be it. Then when he fell asleep she could sneak off to the shower and the detachable shower head.

Her mouth curved in a teasing smile. "Maybe I just want  _you_ ," she said. She reached between them to squeeze him through his shorts. "This. Inside me."

He ducked his head and tried to breathe. "That's—I can't argue with that idea, but—I don't have any condoms."

"Oh. That's okay; I do."

He looked up, wide-eyed. "What? Why?"

"Only a dumbass goes into battle unarmed. I got them for Teller, but obviously didn't use them. They're in my bag."

"That's what sex with him was, huh? A battle? I hope you don't feel the same way about us."

"Love is a battlefield, baby," she said with a grin.

"Thanks, Ms. Benatar." It didn't exactly answer his question, but he figured it was all the answer he was going to get out of her. Pressing the issue would just make it worse. He moved to lie beside her and she turned toward him.

"What's the matter?" she said.

He sighed and flipped onto his side. Ran his fingers through her hair and smiled a little. "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

She bit her lip. Was he trying to make her chase him? Beg him for it? Or was he being sincere? She had no idea. This time yesterday, when they were in the exact same position, she would have said the latter, no question. Now?

Now she had to question  _everything_. Every word. Every touch. Every look and kiss.

His expression was so earnest. She wanted to believe him.

She knew she couldn't.

Instead she pressed her hand to his shoulder and pushed him onto his back. Crawled up on top of him and pulled her shirt over her head. "Clear anything up for you?" she said.

"Jesus," he said on a hard breath.

"You look so stunned, Ortiz. Surely you've seen tits before."

"Well, yeah, of course, but—" He flashed her a sheepish smile. "Maybe I shouldn't say this, but I'm going to anyway."

He hesitated a moment before he rested his hands on her hips. "I can't remember the last time I wanted somebody as bad as I want you. I wanna have my hands on you every minute. I wanna kiss you all the time. And now you're sitting on top of me mostly naked and it's sort of—" His brow furrowed. "I'm not used to getting what I want is all. It's kind of rare."

She swallowed hard. God he was layin' it on thick. She trailed her palms up his chest and managed a tremulous smile. "Yeah, Ortiz. I'm not used to getting what I want, either."

"What do you want, Olivia?"

Bracing her hands against him, she leaned down and captured his mouth with hers. The kiss deepened as she brushed her tongue over his and he sucked at her lower lip. "You," she whispered against his mouth. "I want you, baby."

"God I was hoping you'd say that." He wrapped his arms around her and flipped them over. His mouth found the sensitive spot below her jaw, then lower, down the column of her throat to her collarbones. He stroked up her sides, along her ribs, and as his fingertips brushed the bottom curve of her breasts he paused.

"Please," she said. "Don't stop."

He dipped his head to kiss along her sternum while his hand moved higher, to cup her breast, and she let out a soft sigh as he pinched her nipple between his fingers.

"Wanna make you feel so good, baby," he mumbled. "Been waitin' so long to get my mouth on you. To touch you."

That, at least, she could be believe. She couldn't speak; she was afraid of what she might say. Instead she laced her fingers in his hair and arched into his touch as his lips closed around her other nipple. His hand drifted back down, over her belly, to rest between her legs. He just held it there, unmoving, lightly pressing the heel of his hand against her.

There was something wrong, he could tell. He wanted to ask her, to reassure her, anything, but he had no idea how. Her body responded to him exactly how he hoped, but…something was missing. It was like she was only half there, and part of her mind was off somewhere else.

He wanted her, but not like this.

He rolled away and sat up, bracing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. She laid there a moment, blinking in astonishment, before she reached out a tentative hand to touch his back.

"Juice?" she said.

He pushed himself off the bed but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "I've told you how I feel, Olivia. I don't know what else to say."

"What are you talking about? I thought—"

His look stopped her. "Come find me when you've made up your mind about what you want. Until then, I think we should keep our distance."

She stared at him, completely thrown. He leaned down to kiss her, long and lingering, and pulled away with a reluctant frown.

"I'm sorry, Liv. I really want things to be different, but you're not the only one risking something here."

Then he was out the door and gone, leaving her to gape after him like a landed fish.

What the  _fuck_  had just happened? She fell back against the pillow and scrubbed her hands over her face. Her entire body tingled at the memory of his hands and mouth and the feel of him against her. Okay, she didn't entirely trust him anymore, but that hadn't changed the  _rest_  of it. He still made her nuts. She still wanted him like crazy, no matter how hard she tried to deny it.

And they'd been—he'd been—his hand—

She cursed and dug through the bottom drawer of her nightstand. She had work later, and the last thing she needed was to be so wound up around Jax Teller. Men like that could tell, and he'd think it was about him.

Right. Like Jackson Teller could ever—

She let out a breath and checked the batteries—her vibrator had been getting quite a workout lately—before she flipped it on. She had no idea where Juice had gone; she hadn't heard his bedroom door. Maybe he was lurking just outside. She didn't care if he heard her. She'd listened to his dumb porn often enough before she'd suggested he invest in some good headphones.

Juice had stopped in the hall to try to get himself together. It took everything he had not to go back in there. Push her back against the bed and kiss her and tell her he was a stupid fucking idiot and she shouldn't listen to a word he said.

But he couldn't. Because he'd been right. Neither of them could do this halfway, if they were going to do it. It was too risky. He, for one, felt way too much.

He had just started to calm down a little when he heard it: a faint buzzing, accompanied by soft, breathless moans. He drew in a sharp breath and held it. Holy shit. No way. She was absolutely trying to kill him.

Cursing, he fled to his room and slammed the door behind him. Gritted his teeth and opened his laptop. If she wanted to play dirty he could play dirty. He cued up the movie he'd been watching the night she told him he needed to get headphones and cranked the volume.

Olivia's head lifted off the pillow as she heard moaning from Juice's room. What the fuck? Had he lost his damn headphones? She flicked her vibrator up a few notches and stopped trying to be quiet. The smell of him was still on her sheets. She remembered what he'd said about licking her pussy, and how good his mouth had felt on her breasts.

Juice hit mute on his laptop. Had he just heard—? Had she just—? No.

Except then he heard it again: she moaned his name, louder than the first time.

"Oh no you don't," he muttered. "Not without me." He'd been sort of idly rubbing his erection through his shorts, but as the volume increased next door he pushed his underwear down and wrapped his hand around his cock.

It had gone quiet from his room; he must've turned off the porn; but then she heard a muffled groan and her eyes went wide. That was him.  _His_  voice. A shock of pure lust hit her, and her hips bucked against the toy.

"Fuck!" she whimpered. "Yes, Juicy, yes, just like that!"

He hadn't realized before how thin these walls were. No wonder she'd asked him to get headphones. He knew the second her orgasm hit: her voice went high-pitched and thready, and she chanted his name in a breathless litany. It was more than he could take, and with a jerk and a cry he came.

"Livvie!" he moaned. "Fuck, baby, fuck yeah!"

She shuddered through the aftershocks and bit down hard on her lip as she heard him say her name. Sort of.  _Livvie_. That was a new one.

She liked it. She turned the vibrator off and fell back, gasping and shaking. That had been fun, but she wanted  _him_. At least she knew the feeling was mutual. How much difference did that make, though? Wanting was easy. There'd been attraction from minute one.

Her phone binged. She made a face. At least it had waited until she was done. Flipping onto her belly, she swiped it off the nightstand and typed in the complex unlock code.

It was a text. From Juice.

_was it good for u?_

She smothered a laugh. God he was too cute.

_remind me to never touch your phone. no way you've washed your hands._

_like u have? answer the q._

"Yeah, babe," she murmured as she typed. "It was great for me." She frowned a little. Then, "Bring ice cream."

She could hear his laugh echo from his bedroom, and a few seconds later his footsteps in the hall. Grinning, she snuggled down under the covers to wait for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you guys were so excited about the last chapter! It'll be a minute before there's any evidence either way, really, so hold on to your butts. ;) And keep speculating bc that's awesome!


	14. The Virus (Pt. 2)

He'd left the ice cream outside her door. By the time she'd gotten up and opened it, he'd been gone. In the bathroom and a few minutes later she'd heard the shower start. She'd stared down at the little carton with a frown, then had fallen back onto the bed to eat it.

No reason to let ice cream go to waste—and besides, she'd needed it more than ever after such pointed and pissy rejection.

Now she was back at work, and it was the last place she wanted to be. Jax was in the garage. He kept eyeing her. Giving her knowing little smiles, the occasional wink. She was polite but distant, trying to make it clear without saying anything aloud that she really truly wasn't interested.

She had no idea what Juice was planning to plant in their computer system—if anything; it's not like she'd know if the whole thing was a ruse—but she did know there was absolutely no point in throwing herself at Jax now. Whatever information she got from him would be tainted. Useless.

What still stumped her was why Juice had fought so hard to keep her away from Jax. It really  _was_  the perfect solution: she fucks Jax, Jax feeds her false info, everybody's ass is covered. But Juice had been so adamantly opposed to it.

Because he was afraid Jax might accidentally let something slip that would lead her to Juice as the mole? Or because he needed that virus on their computers?

Or, she thought with a rueful tilt to her mouth, maybe for another reason altogether. Maybe he just didn't want her fucking someone else.

He was the one with the play here, after all. It wouldn't do him any good if she were distracted by Jax.

A commotion near the office caught her attention, and she glanced that way with half an eye.

"I don't fucking care, Ope!" Jax said, his voice rising by the time he got to Opie's name. "I need the fucking thing fixed, and I need it now! We got a goddamn business to run here."

Opie lifted his arms in a shrug. "Look, man, I've done everything I know how to do. It's not really my wheelhouse. I think we're gonna have to get somebody in."

Jax dragged a frustrated hand down his face. "Fuck. You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me."

Olivia turned her head to hide a smile and then approached slowly. "Everything okay, guys?" she said.

Jax started to snarl—she could tell—but when he realized who it was he relaxed his face into an easy smile. "Nothin' for you to worry about, darlin'. Just the computer acting up."

"Oh." She slid her hands into her pockets and shrugged. "It sounds kinda bad. Um. You know my husband, Javy—he's a computer guy." A blush touched her cheeks. "I don't mean like as a hobby. It's what he does for a living."

If they gave her too much pushback she wasn't sure what she would do. Not just because of the plan, but because if Juice were the mole surely they would want him to do whatever it was he had in mind. On the other hand, them readily saying yes wouldn't be much of an indication either way, because the computer  _was_  pretty fucked…

Impossible situation? Check.

Jax cut Opie a look, and Opie hitched a shoulder. Jax glanced back at her and flashed his dimples. "You really think he'd help us out like that?"

"I'm sure he would," she said. Her mouth curved. "We're neighbors, after all."

Opie nudged Jax before he smiled at Olivia. "Give him a call, Soph. We gotta get this shit fixed."

"Sure," she said. "Finish up with my customer for me?"

"No problem," he said.

* * *

Less than an hour later Juice pulled into the lot. Olivia waved at him as he got out of the car, and he jogged her way.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey." She was glad that their cover story allowed for the distance between them, because she wasn't sure what else to say. "It's in here."

She showed him the computer, demonstrating the issue for the benefit of the cameras. As they bent over the machine she murmured, "No sound."

"Good," he replied. It meant, as long as they weren't facing a camera where someone could ready their lips, they could talk.

She ducked her head toward the keyboard. "By each door, facing in. And straight above us. Be careful about keystrokes."

"Okay," he said. "Looks good. I think I can take it from here."

She wandered away to poke around in the pile of invoices that had started to accumulate on the edge of the desk. Juice typed furiously while she watched out for activity in the garage.

"You don't have to stay," he said. "I got this."

"I know," she said. "But, I mean—I'll leave if you want."

"No," he said. He cleared his throat. "It's okay. I, uh. I like your company."

She turned her head so he wouldn't see her smile. "Hum. I'm surprised to hear it, after this morning."

"You mean when I left?"

"I more meant when you didn't come back," she said, quietly.

"Ahh…" The typing faltered, and she glanced back as he scowled down at the keyboard. "I just thought—after what happened—I don't know. I thought it might be awkward."

"Right," she said. "No, that was probably a good call."

"Sophie—"

"I'll leave you to it," she said.

She was gone before he could say anything else. She passed Jax on her way out, and he smiled at her a little. She nodded in return, and Juice tried to hide a glare.

"Hey, man," Jax said.

"Oh, hey," Juice said. "I'm Javy." He held out a hand and Jax gave it a brief shake.

"Jax. Sophie's told me a lot about you."

"Hum," said Juice. "I'm afraid to ask."

Jax hitched a shoulder, slid his hands into his pockets, and propped against the table. "Nothin' bad, really." He chose not to mention her telling him Javy slept with someone else. "She's a good worker," he said instead. "Smart, and good at it."

"You don't gotta tell me about my wife, man," Juice said, keeping his tone easy. "She rebuilt our blender one day, just for shits and giggles. I didn't know you even  _could_  rebuild a blender."

"We're glad to have her around here. We had a guy quit like last minute, and we were in a lurch. When I saw her car and she told me she did all the work herself—" He broke off with a shrug.

"We?" Juice said quietly. "Or you?"

Jax' light brows drew together. "What's that mean?"

"Nothin', bro. Just—I've seen how you look at her, that's all. Like when she's out in the driveway."

"You realize she's the one out there shakin' her ass all the time? Pretty sure she wants me lookin'."

Juice shook his head and came around the desk. "That's what you think?"

Jax straightened and took a step closer. "That's basically what she  _told_  me, bro."

"Huh," Juice said. He crossed his arms over his chest. "When the fuck did she tell you that?  _Bro_."

Jax took another step and Juice lowered his arms. Now they were nearly chest to chest, and Jax' eyes narrowed. "When I had her top off and my mouth on her tits,  _bro_."

"Maybe you need to concentrate more on your cars and a little less on my wife's tits."

"Tell your  _wife_  to get her  _tits_  outta my face. She didn't complain, trust me."

"You fuck my wife, Teller?"

"Bro, she was beggin' for it!"

"I asked you a goddamn question,  _bro_. Did you  _fuck_  my  _wife_?"

"You bet your ass I fucked her! And she fuckin' loved it!"

"Bullshit!" Juice said. "Fuckin' bullshit, you arrogant prick. She told me what happened. She fuckin'  _stopped_  you."

"Then why the hell you askin' me? If you can't trust your whore of a wife—"

Juice threw a punch and Jax staggered. He came up swinging, but the door behind them burst open and Opie grabbed Jax and hauled him away.

"What the fuck?" Opie cried.

Olivia was right behind him, a hand clamped over her mouth.

"Motherfucker hit me!" Jax yelled.

"You called my wife a whore!"

"Jesus Christ, Jax," Opie said.

"Oh my God," Olivia breathed. She came around between the two of them and shoved Jax' shoulder. "You fucking idiot!  _I'm_  a whore? You were all over me, and  _I'm_  the one who stopped you! Shit like this is exactly why.

"And you!" she said, spinning on Juice. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You came in here to fix the goddamn computer and you end up punching my boss?"

She threw her hands up and scraped them back through her hair. "Fuck both of you! You're grown-ass men, not little boys in a schoolyard."

"Where are you going?" Opie said as she stomped for the door.

"Home! Fire me if you want. I don't give a goddamn at this point!"

It slammed behind her, and Jax shrugged off Opie's hold. "Fix the fucking computer," he snapped at Juice, and then he was gone too, out to the garage.

"Shit," Opie muttered. He shrugged at Juice. "I'm sorry, man. Sounds like he deserved it. Fix the computer. I won't let anybody fire Sophie."

"I don't know. After all that she might wanna quit."

"Not sure I'd blame her," Opie said.

Juice glanced over at the computer and rubbed a hand over his face. "I should get this finished up and head home. She's gonna be so fuckin' pissed."

"Don't envy you, buddy." Opie grinned, just a little. "Good luck with it."

"Yeah, man," Juice said. "I'm gonna need it."

* * *

It was quiet when he got home, and he thought that was probably more dangerous than if she were somewhere throwing things. He poked his head in the kitchen, but it was empty. With a deep sigh he climbed the stairs and knocked on her bedroom door.

"I'm in here, asshole!" she called from the guest room.

Asshole. Great.

He pushed the door open and leaned against the doorjamb. She had her back to him and was scribbling in her notebook.

"Liv—"

She held up a finger and he fell quiet. After several more minutes she finally dropped her pen and twisted the chair around toward him.

"Go ahead," she said.

He frowned and studied his boots. "I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have started it at all, much less hit him."

She rose slowly to her feet. "Why. The  _fuck_. Would you even bring it up? What was the fucking  _point_?"

"I don't know," he said. He walked toward her, but she lifted a hand and he paused. "He's so fucking smug. It pissed me off."

"We have a cover here, Juice! Do you get that? I need to keep that job. We need to get  _in_  with them, not punch the ringleader!"

"I know, Liv. I know it."

"Do you think if you give me those puppy eyes and look all contrite I'll just forget it?"

"Please," he said with a snort. "Like you'd ever forget something."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Nothing, Olivia. It doesn't mean a fucking thing."

"Fine," she said. "I'm going to take a bath before I say something we both regret."

He grabbed her arm as she went by and pulled her around to face him. "I don't think we're done here."

"Yeah, Juice. I'm pretty sure we are. You made yourself clear this morning, and after that stunt at the garage—" She broke off and shoved at his shoulder. "Let go of me."

"No," he said. He yanked her against him, and his free hand tangled in her hair to tug her head back. Her mouth fell open in surprise, and he captured her gasp and swallowed it down. He bit her lip, hard, and she whimpered and tried to push him away.

"I don't want him lookin' at you. Not anymore."

"You don't have any claim on me," she said.

"Maybe I should," he said, almost a growl, and he kissed her again. "Forget Jackson Teller. Stop thinking about him."

"I'm not thinking about Jackson Teller, you fucker! I'm thinking about  _you_! I'm  _always_  thinking about you. It's why I stopped him! I  _told_  you that!" She grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt and hauled him closer. "Jax Teller will never put his hands on me again," she hissed.

"Damn straight he won't," Juice rasped. Their mouths crashed together, all teeth and tongues, and his hands gripped her thighs to drag her legs up around his waist. He staggered until he had her perched on the edge of the desk. She bit his neck, sucked, and he stripped her shirt off before getting rid of his own.

Her nails dug into his chest and slid down, a delicious scrape, until she got to his belt buckle. He kissed her again, rough and deep, while she shoved his pants down to his ankles. Her fingers closed around his erection and his head fell back on a groan.

"You gonna fuck me, Juan Carlos? You think that'll make me yours?"

"You  _are_  mine, Olivia," he grated. "You think you aren't?"

"Go to hell, Ortiz."

"Only if you're there with me, baby." He used her hair to pull her head back again, and his teeth were sharp on the tender skin of her throat. He nipped and sucked down to her breasts and hooked his finger into the cup of her bra. His lips closed around her nipple, but she pushed him away and reached for the button on her jeans.

He sucked her earlobe and helped her. She lifted her hips and he peeled the denim off her, then ripped her panties away like they were nothing. He slid two fingers into her slick, aching cunt and she bit him so hard he cried out.

"Fuck me," she said. "I need your cock in me, Juice!"

He pulled his fingers from her pussy and pressed them to her lips. She sucked them into her mouth, swirled her tongue around them, and he pulled her legs around him to thrust into her hard and deep.

"Fuck," he rasped. "Goddamn, Livvie, you feel so  _fucking_  good!" Then he froze and his eyes went huge. "Babe, wait. I'm not wearing a condom. Hang on, we gotta—"

"I'm on the Pill. That's the only thing I'm worried about."

"Okay," he said. He pressed his forehead against hers and rocked his hips. "Okay, Liv. That's the only thing I'm worried about, too."

"Good, Juicy. That's good," she whispered. Then, eagerly, "Harder! Please, harder!" She buried her face in the side of his neck and sucked.

He did as she begged, yanking her against him as he set a furious, driving pace. "Like that, baby? Is that what you want?"

"Yes! Yeah, fuck, yes!" Her nails dug into his scalp and she yanked his hair and his fingers left impressions in the soft skin on her hips.

"Fuck, Livvie, yeah, you're so hot, so wet, feel so good, can't get enough of you!"

"Don't stop, Ortiz, don't stop, please, oh my God!"

He reached between them to find her clit, and as his knuckles closed around it her back arched and her moans turned into long, high-pitched keens.

"Come for me, baby, come all over my cock. You love the way I fuck you, don't you?"

"Yes! Yeah, Juicy, yes!"

His voice was urgent, desperate and wanton, and it almost didn't matter what he was actually saying when he said it like  _that_. "You love my big dick in you. My fingers on your clit."

"Yes so much, so much!" He pinched her clit between his knuckles, rolling it a little. And suddenly she was coming, long, hard shudders as she squeezed around him over and over.

"Damn, baby, goddamn, I can't—"

"Yes, Juicy," she gasped through her orgasm, "yes!"

He rained kisses over her face and neck and shoulders, and his own climax hit like a hot, electric wave.

"Livvie, baby, sweetheart, fuck goddamn, fuck yes!" He held her tight as they rode it out together, and as the aftershocks finally began to pass he lifted his head and gave her a dopey smile.

She laughed a little and kissed his nose. They were both breathless, panting and slick with sweat, and he licked the side of her neck. He pulled away with a groan, and she stretched, arching her back and and lifting her arms above her head.

"Wow," she said. "I needed that."

Something about her tone made him frown. "Needed what, exactly?"

She lifted a brow and hopped off the table. Cast around for her clothes and started to pull herself together. "Um, you know. A good quick fuck. Letting off some steam. Judging by the way you reacted to Teller earlier, I think you needed it too. Your hand's only so good, right?"

"Olivia—"

"Juice." She stopped him with a brief kiss. "Please don't make this into more than it was."

"Right." Shaking his head, he let out a sardonic laugh and pulled his pants up. "Stupid me, thinking Olivia Gable, ice queen, would ever actually  _feel_  something."

"I feel, Juice. I feel plenty. And you're seriously calling me  _ice queen_  after what just happened?"

" _What just happened_ ," he repeated bitterly. "A quick fuck. You said it yourself, Liv. It didn't mean a goddamn thing." He snatched his shirt off the back of the chair and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The sound of it echoed through the house, and Olivia let out a quiet sigh.

There was literally no situation on earth she couldn't manage to fuck up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took all my self control not to name this chapter "Bro Off."


	15. The Mole

If Olivia had thought things were bad during the two weeks while he worked on the virus, that was nothing compared to now. Since their encounter in the guest room icy, indifferent silence had given way to hostile, pointed ignoring. She never saw him. She had no idea if the virus worked or not.

She hadn't made any progress on the mole situation.

Ortiz was a hacker, as Chibs had pointed out, and he was obsessive about security. She'd tried checking the computer the other day, before he fucked her on the desk in front of it, but his passwords were insane, and set to erase the hard drive after ten failed attempts. She had access to the video feed and one or two other things, but that was it.

None of his notes. None of his casework.

It would make her suspicious if she weren't exactly the same way. They had to protect their information. If they got made and the wrong people gained access to their computers or their phones it would be a disaster for the entire case. Other cops could get exposed. Informants compromised.

Honestly his security measures were typical for someone in their situation, and she couldn't tell anything either way from them.

She hadn't resorted to tossing his room yet, but she knew that had to be the next step. He didn't keep anything important in the guest room or any of the other common spaces, and his room was spotlessly neat. She had two obstacles: one, getting him out of the house (Javy worked from home, of course) and two, making sure she got everything back exactly how she'd found it.

He'd notice if something were out of place. He always noticed.

Things at work were almost as tense as they were at home. Olivia hadn't spoken to Jax since Juice punched him, but Jax had sent Opie to apologize on his behalf.

"He was out of line," Opie had said. "He knows that."

"Does he? Then why isn't he here telling me himself?"

He'd lifted his hands in a shrug. "I don't know, Sophie. He just asked me to say something."

"Uh huh," she'd said with a cynical sort of curl to her lip. "Tell him I said thanks."

It had been two days: a short time that felt like an eternity with so much tension everywhere Olivia turned. She just wanted a break from it. A second to relax.

To that end she found herself wandering toward the clubhouse one night after work. She knew Jax was out of town, off on some mysterious (no doubt criminal) enterprise, and most of the odd hangers-on had gone with him…including his creepy-as-fuck bodyguard, Happy. Lately Happy had been two steps behind Jax everywhere he went, and Olivia couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with Juice decking him.

Except why the fuck would they be worrying about some put-on act…?

She bit the thought off with a sigh and headed toward the bar. The room was quiet and empty. "Hello?" she called.

Nothing. Had everyone gone with Jax? She knew Opie hadn't. He'd been in the garage today, casting her furtive, sheepish glances while pretending he wasn't.

She wandered into the hallway toward the office. She knew the security feeds went straight there, and if it really were deserted, she wanted to get a look.

"Come in," a voice said at her knock. Opie.

"I didn't know if anyone was around or not," she said.

He pushed back from the desk and smiled. "Yeah, most everybody went to that car show with Jax, and Gemma cut out early. There's a carnival at her church tonight, and she's half in charge of it."

"How very altruistic," Olivia said.

"Getting involved with the community is important to her. She always tries to give back."

Olivia didn't trust herself to comment on that. Instead she shut the door behind her and meandered around the room. There was a sofa and a coffee table made of petrified wood. The desk, of course, and to the right of it the bank of security monitors.

"Whoa," she said. "Lots of cameras around here."

He gave an easy shrug. "We had problems with break-ins a while back. We amped up security after that." He paused a moment to study her. Then, "Somethin' I can help you with, Soph? You don't make a habit of hangin' around here usually."

She propped against the desk and crossed her arms over her stomach. "I got everything closed up and I was bored."

"You could always go home."

"I could." She ducked her head. "But I guess you can imagine since the other day things with Javy have been a little weird."

He grunted. "Sophie." The chair squeaked as he leaned toward her. "Can I give you some unsolicited advice?"

Her head tilted, and he took that as permission to continue.

"Stay away from Jax. I'm not sayin' that to be an asshole. Just—you—" He let out a rough sigh. "You seem like a nice person."

"What does that have to do with Jax?"

A frown wrinkled his forehead, and she waited as he wrestled with it. "Jax isn't good for nice people."

"You seem like a nice person," she said, quietly.

"Yeah." He scowled. "That's kinda what I mean."

"Opie." He wore a wedding ring, but Olivia had never seen a spouse. Or heard him talk about one. She wanted to ask, but she knew she couldn't. What would he say? If Jax were somehow responsible for Opie losing his lover, he couldn't tell her the truth about it. She didn't want him to have to lie any more than he already had.

She needed to get the hell out of here because she liked this man way more than was healthy in their situation. Not sexually, though Opie was certainly attractive. She just liked  _him_. His quiet strength. His kindness that showed itself in a dozen different ways. His keen instincts.

All the more reason to bail.

He lifted his head to fix her with a questioning look: her silence had stretched too long, and she'd been studying him too closely.

"If Jax is so bad for nice people, maybe you should get away from him, too," she said. It was dangerous, and none of her goddamn business, but…

"He's my brother," he said, ruefully. "We've been best friends practically since birth."

"Blood is thicker," she murmured. She flicked her fingers at his curious expression. "The full saying is  _the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb_. In other words, the bindings you set on yourself are stronger than the ones you're born into."

"That covers it," he said.

He had a hand on the desk, and after a brief hesitation she rested her fingers against it. If he were surprised he didn't show it. They stood like that for a time, quiet and each thinking their own thoughts, until finally she stirred.

"I should get home," she said.

"Your husband loves you a lot, Sophie. Anybody can tell."

"How?" she said with a brief, humorless laugh. "Because he punched my boss in the face for calling me a whore?"

"Not just that. I've been around you two like five minutes and I could tell. It's the way he looks at you."

Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she bit down hard. "I didn't have sex with Jax. Just for the record."

"I know." At her look he shrugged. "You said you didn't."

"And you just believe that? You don't know me."

His mouth quirked. "I know you a little better than all that. I'm good at reading people."

Their eyes met.

"I'm not as nice as I seem," she said.

"I know that, too," he said, his voice mild.

Her mouth went dry. He knew. Of course he knew. They  _all_  knew. Why the fuck had he just tipped his hand?

She pushed off the desk and stumbled backwards. How stupid. How completely fucking—was she a fucking  _amateur_? All alone with Jackson Teller's best friend when everyone in their organization knew she was a cop. And if Juice were the mole he wouldn't exactly be  _looking_  for her.

"Sophie." He rose slowly, his hand raised in a soothing gesture. But he kept on going, up and up, a full foot taller than her and big with it, and she felt like a goddamn mouse trapped in a room with a fucking grizzly.

"I should get home, like I said. Javy will be wondering where I am, and—"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sophie," he said in a low rumble.

"Right," she said. "Sure. I know you won't."

"I won't. Okay? I won't."

She pressed her shaking hands against her thighs and managed a quick, acerbic smile. "If your best-friend-since-birth orders you to hurt me, you'll hurt me. I've got no illusions about that."

He sighed and turned away. Rested both hands on the desk a moment before he scrubbed them over his face.

"Is that why they left you behind?" she said to his back. "To keep an eye on me? To hurt me, if necessary?"

"Go home, Sophie. Please." His chin fell to his chest. "Don't come back."

"What? Opie, my job—"

"Sophie!" He turned on her, suddenly angry, and she fell back against the door. "Don't come back here. Do you understand?"

She squared her shoulders and took a step closer. "Who's the mole, Opie? You know, don't you?"

He mumbled a curse. "I didn't know any of this until the other day, and no. I don't know who it is. I thought it was you."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know," he said. He cast her a long look. "It has to be one of you, doesn't it? You or…your husband." A pause while he tugged hard at his beard. "I've already said way too much. Just be careful, okay? And…he really does love you. Anyone can tell."

Her mouth fell open. "Fuck," she whispered through lips gone numb. "Are you saying—?"

"I'm not saying a goddamn thing." He grabbed her upper arm, opened the door, and shoved her through it. Ignored her cry of pain as his fingers clamped down. "I didn't say a fucking thing. Are we clear? Now get the fuck out of here!"

She wasn't stupid enough to argue further, and with one last glance over her shoulder at him—his big body taut and nearly trembling with barely-contained fury—she fled.

* * *

Olivia didn't go straight home. She couldn't. Opie had all but confirmed Juice as the mole, but she still had no evidence. She had to find something.

Didn't she?

Of course she did. She had to expose him. He'd royally fucked their case, obviously, but he'd also put lives in jeopardy. Hers. His. Anyone involved with the task force. And, according to Opie, Jax was growing impatient with the whole thing and was ready to move on her.

It just didn't make  _sense_. Why the act the other day with punching Jax? And the sex…no one could fake that level of intensity it just wasn't  _possible_.

She pulled over in a McDonald's parking lot and cut the engine. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel and she met her own eyes in the rearview mirror.

_He really does love you._

She couldn't believe that. He'd been lying to her from the jump. He'd played her, and when time ran out he was going to turn her over to the Tellers. He knew what that would mean. Cement shoes would be  _welcome_.

A tiny voice inside her head whispered Andrei's name over and over. Olivia had fallen for Andrei. Fallen for him even as she worked him. Fallen for him knowing full well she was going to be responsible for destroying his entire life.

Maybe Juice did love her. Maybe all of that was genuine. It didn't change anything, though. They still worked at cross purposes. He was still setting her up to die, and setting their case up to collapse like a goddamn house of cards.

What were her options?

One: turn around. Go back to the garage and back to Opie. Lay everything out for him and tell him she wanted in on the play too, whatever it was. They had one mole on the payroll; why not two? Especially since the brass already suspected Juice, but apparently trusted her.

Two: go straight to Chibs or Roosevelt with what Opie had told her, and not wait for more evidence.

Three: go home. Go home to Juice and keep looking, or go home to Juice and ignore the whole fucking thing. Go home to Juice and tell him what Opie had said and see how he reacted.

Her forehead fell to rest on the wheel and she let out a quiet sob. There were no good outcomes here. Indecision paralyzed her and she could hear the roar of the blood in her ears.

"Goddammit," she whispered. "Get ahold of yourself, Gable. Jesus Christ he's just a fucking  _boy_."

She sat back with a shaky sigh. Boys came and went; alcohol was forever.

With that thought in mind, she started the car again and went in search of a goddamn drink.


	16. One Night

Olivia had finally gotten home at nearly midnight, bleary-eyed and exhausted, and she'd stumbled up to her room and fallen into bed. She'd had no idea if Juice were even home, and she hadn't gone to look for him. She couldn't stand the thought of his face. Not just yet.

He'd spent the day locked up in the guest room, as she'd known he would, and barely even emerged to scrounge for food. He didn't ask why she wasn't at work.

Fuck, maybe he already knew.

Somehow she'd managed to fill her day, tinkering around in the garage and cleaning things that didn't need to be cleaned, and now it was late again. She was tired. Not physically. Heart and head tired, exhausted, and she wanted some goddamn quiet. It was why she'd gone to the clubhouse last night in the  _first_  place, and look what that had gotten her.

She couldn't stop thinking about Juice. The mole. How was she supposed to feel about all of it?

Stupid question. She was supposed to hate him. Cast him as enemy number one and relentlessly pursue the truth!

Fuck that. She didn't know much, but she  _did_  know she didn't hate him. Could maybe never hate him even though she really fucking should.

She knew she wanted him. She knew she—cared about him. What did the rest of it matter? At least for tonight. They could have one night. One night and then she'd go back to spy mode, go back to looking for the evidence she needed.

Olivia let out a long sigh and slid out of bed. She changed out of her standard sleeping clothes and into a pair of cute silky panties and a silk robe. She wanted to make sure he had absolutely no doubts about why she was in his bedroom in the middle of the night.

At his door she hesitated, but then with a deep breath she knocked.

"Come in," he called. Clearly he hadn't been asleep, either.

He flicked the lamp on, and when he caught sight of her he let out a breath. "Liv?" he said. "Is everything okay?"

She smiled and stepped closer. Cupped his upturned face in her hands and kissed him long and slow. "I'm sorry. About the guest room. I meant what I said when I told you I want you, and I never meant to hurt you."

His hands settled on her hips and his eyes were wide as he stared at her. "You didn't—" He broke off and looked away.

"Are you sure, Olivia? Please tell me you're sure. This isn't like—the thing on the table. This is…I don't want another quick fuck."

"I'm sure." She climbed into bed and straddled him, then untied the sash on her robe and let it fall open. Reached out and dropped the box of condoms onto his nightstand. "I'm absolutely sure. And trust me: I understand the difference. Maybe we can pretend the table thing didn't happen? Just start over."

He studied her a moment, tracing the lines of her face like he was searching for something. He must've found it, because he smiled.

"Come here," he whispered. He grabbed the back of her neck and tugged her closer, gently, and she fell against him with a soft sigh. Their bodies pressed together and he shoved her robe off her shoulders so that it was skin on skin.

She skimmed her palms up his arms to his shoulders, and as their mouths met he flipped them over so that she was flat on her back. Taking his hand, she pressed it between her legs. "Finish what you started the other morning, baby. Please."

He stroked her through the slippery panties, and she squirmed a little. His lips moved in a grin. He caught the soft skin of her throat between his teeth and kissed lower, over her collarbones and between her breasts, and when his tongue lathed across her nipple she whimpered.

"You want me to make you come, Livvie?" he mumbled as he licked and nipped at her breasts. "Want me to finger this hot little cunt until you come all over my hand?"

She shuddered and carded her fingers through his hair. "Yeah, Juicy," she said. "That's exactly what I want."

His breath was hot on her skin as he panted, and when he pushed her panties aside he found her slick and wet. "Fuck, baby, you're dripping. You get started without me?"

She laughed. "It took me a while to make up my mind. There was a lot of thinking involved."

"Uh huh." He brushed his fingertip over her clit and watched in fascination as color flooded her face. "Thinking, huh?"

"That's right," she breathed. " _Thinking_. I decided to let you do all the touching."

"Good girl," he murmured. He rubbed his thumb across her clit, a firm stroke, and slowly slid a finger into her. "Is that what you like?" he said as she gasped.

"Yeah," she breathed, "yeah like that. Just…curve your finger a little—like that fuck, yes!"

He growled and sucked her nipple into his mouth. Lashed his tongue across it as his thumb swirled around her clit, just barely touching it, and his finger straightened and curled again inside her.

Her fingers clenched in his hair and her mouth fell open. He lifted his head to watch her, and after a moment he pulled his hand away.

"What—?"

"Shhh," he said. "Trust me." He sat up to lean against the headboard, then pulled her with him. He got her settled in his lap, her back against his chest, and she lifted her hips to help him get rid of her panties.

"Hi there," she said, wiggling a little against his erection.

"Ha. Hey, you."

His hand drifted down her body, skimming over her swollen nipples, along her belly, the curve of her hip, before it finally came to settle between her legs again. She braced her hands on his thighs, and when he thrust two fingers into her she let out a cry and her nails dug in.

He curled them inside her the way she liked and kissed her shoulder. She started to move, grinding onto him and rocking so that the heel of his hand rubbed hard on her clit.

"You like that, Livvie?"

"Uh huh," she breathed. "Fuck that's so good!"

"Don't stop, sweetheart." He trailed sucking kisses down the side of her neck. Squeezed his fingers and palm together over and over, pressing harder against her G-spot every time. "That's right," he whispered in her ear. "That's it, baby, ride my hand. Take exactly what you want."

"Fuck," she moaned. "Juicy, oh God, yes yes  _yes_!"

She had double handfuls of his shorts, her fingers tangled so tight her knuckles were going white. He bit the back of her neck, and his free hand cupped her breast to twist and tug her nipple.

"Need more," she gasped and slid a hand between his palm and her clit.

"You're so fucking sexy, Livvie," he said, his voice a low rasp. "You feel so goddamn good. You gonna come for me, baby?"

"Yes!" she cried. "Oh God, I'm so close, so close, don't stop!"

He pressed his palm against her fingers as they worked her clit, and her hips bucked as he scissored his fingers inside her.

"That's it, Juicy, that's right fuck oh my God yeah, yes, yeah—!" Her body arched and jerked in his arms, and he felt a rush of wetness over his hand. He pressed fervent kisses anywhere he could reach: her neck; shoulder; jaw; the curve of her ear.

She chanted his name just like she had that morning in her room. He didn't let up on her G-spot, stroking and caressing and tapping against it. Every curl of his fingers made her shudder all over again, and he grinned at the desperate little noises she made. Finally she grabbed his wrist to hold him still.

"Please," she said. "God, please."

"What?" he said, all innocence. "More? You want more?"

"Fuck!" she groaned as he flicked his fingers inside her. "No, no, oh my God, stop! You're so damn mean, Ortiz."

He laughed and slowly pulled out of her. Sucked one of his fingers into his mouth to lick it clean before he brushed the other one across her lips. The feel of her tongue on his skin made him go hot all over, and he let out a quiet moan.

"Did that work for you?" he said and stroked a gentle hand down her body.

"It wasn't bad," she said with an offhand shrug.

"Now who's the mean one?" He bit her ear and she reached up to hook her arm around his neck. Pulled his head down to kiss him, her tongue gliding against his and her mouth hot and sweet.

"Pretty sure that's my designation in this relationship," she said.

He grinned and shifted her a little. "You know," he said, "normally there would be a lot more foreplay."

"Ortiz." She twisted around to face him, and her expression was wry. "I think two months is  _plenty_  of fucking foreplay."

"Yeah?" He ran his hands up her back and tangled them in her hair. "Is that what you call the last two months? Foreplay?"

"Frustrating," she said and kissed him. "Frustrating foreplay."

"And what about the other morning? What was that?"

She lifted a brow. "You mean when you walked out on me, or when we played passive-aggressive masturbatory sex games?"

He snorted out a laugh before he turned serious. "I'm sorry I walked out on you," he said. "But I really—" He cleared his throat. "I care about you. I didn't want this to happen the wrong way."

"You mean like the guest room?"

"I thought we were gonna pretend that didn't happen." He brushed her hair back and kissed her temple. "Yeah, like the guest room. Not sayin' I didn't enjoy it, but…"

"No," she said, softly. "You're right, Juan Carlos. It's better like this."

He smiled, then gasped as she rocked into him. "Babe—"

"Don't worry, sugar," she said. "I'm gonna take care of you." She grabbed the box of condoms and fished one out. "I don't think you'll be needing these," she said, tugging at the waist of his shorts.

He gave a jerky little nod, and she moved down to help him pull them off. She flicked her tongue across the tip of his cock and he let out a ragged breath. She contemplated, briefly, giving him a blowjob instead, but a quick look up at his face told her that while he certainly wouldn't say no to it, it wasn't really what he wanted.

It wasn't really what she wanted, either.

She rolled the condom down his erection—she was, like she'd told him, on the Pill, but she preferred backup and was glad when he didn't complain—and he hauled her into his lap again.

"Need to be inside you, baby," he mumbled as they kissed. "Need to feel that pretty wet pussy around me."

Now it was her turn to go breathless. Something about his dirty talk, a rough combination of sweet and raunchy, pushed all her buttons. He seemed to know it, too, and he smirked as he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock.

She bit his ear and slid down on to him, all the way to the hilt, and for a moment they both froze. He felt so damn good, better than she'd ever thought—his mind went blank at the tight velvet  _heat_  of her—and for several wild, pounding heartbeats they just stared at each other, wide-eyed and stunned.

Then she laughed, a low ripple, and he thrust up into her. "Yeah," she moaned. "Yes, baby, please."

"Goddamn," he breathed. "Jesus, Livvie, holy—you feel—"

"I know," she said. "I know." Because whatever he was trying to say, she felt it too. Even more than the other day.

She started to move, slow at first to feel every inch of him as she slid up and down. He clamped a hand in her hair and pulled her head back to mouth her throat, up to her lips. He didn't kiss her: his mouth hovered over hers, so close that their lips brushed whenever they moved.

They breathed each other's breath until they were both dizzy from it, and still he held her there. She flicked her tongue against him; he grinned and rubbed his across her lower lip. She laughed again, then groaned as he rocked his hips.

"Olivia," he whispered, "Livvie, Liv, that's so good, you're so good!"

"So are you, Juan Carlos. Fuck, Juice, that's—!"

He rolled them over so that she was underneath him. One arm went around her hips, holding her tight against him, while the other hand stayed tangled in her hair. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and he thrust deep.

"Can't get enough," he said. "Can't get enough of you, baby."

He pulled out and plunged in again, and at her high, desperate cry, he bit her chin. The corner of her jaw. And set a rough, hard rhythm that she moved eagerly to match.

"Don't stop," she begged. "God, Juicy, don't stop that's it, like that, that's so good!"

"Love you, Livvie. Love you so fucking much. Need you so goddamn bad!"

Her breath left in a hard rush. She kissed him, biting and sucking at his lips. Their eyes met, and through the haze of lust and desire she saw truth there. She smiled, bright and beautiful, and kissed him again.

"You gonna come for me again?" he rasped. "Gonna come all over my big cock?"

"Yeah, Juicy, yes, yeah I'm so close, so close!"

"Good girl." He kissed her over and over, soft and sweet, hot and rough. "Good girl, that's it, that's right, come for me, Olivia. Come with my fat cock deep inside your sweet tight cunt."

"Oh God!" she cried. The orgasm hit her suddenly, an electric jolt through her entire body, and at the feel of her clenching around him he gritted his teeth and tried to hold on.

"You too, baby," she said, though she could barely breathe. "Please!"

"Goddamn!" He jerked against her and she whimpered his name. He spasmed inside her, pumping into the condom until his vision blanked and his head spun. He slowed, rocking into her long and easy, and they clung together as they shuddered through it.

"Holy shit," he whispered when he finally started to come down.

A brief, breathless laugh. "Seconded," she said.

"What  _was_  that?"

She shook her head and licked a drop of sweat from his temple. "Hell if I know."

He pulled away long enough to get rid of the condom, then he was back to gather her against him. "So it's not usually like that for you?"

She giggled and poked him in the shoulder. "Ortiz, if it were usually like that for me I might never leave my room."

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He cupped her face in his hand and brushed his thumb against her cheek. "Olivia." A line appeared between his brows. "I meant what I said."

"You said a lot of things, baby. Which part?"

He let out an impatient huff. "You know which part."

"Hum." Her head tilted. She took his hand in hers and kissed the center of his palm. "Maybe say it again, just so I'm sure I remember correctly."

He tapped the end of her nose to get her to look at him. When their eyes met he smiled, slow and sweet, not the one that hit her like a punch to the gut, but rather the one that reminded her of sliding into a warm bathtub on a cold morning.

"I love you," he said.

Color lit up her cheeks, but her grin was coy. "Maybe one more time?"

His head fell back as he laughed, and when he looked at her again he was grinning from ear to ear. "I love you, Olivia. Stubborn, impossible, gorgeous, tempestuous Olivia. I love you."

" _Tempestuous_?" she echoed with a frown.

He hitched a shoulder. "Poetic license."

"Somehow I doubt that."

Her expression sobered and she held his face in both hands. "I love you too, Juan Carlos. Not sure exactly when it happened, but at some point tonight when I was sitting in my bedroom thinking about what you'd said the other day I realized it was true. I love you, and I'm sorry for all the shit I've put you through." Her nose crinkled as she grinned. "Sweet, sexy, pig-headed, logical Juan Carlos."

" _Pig-headed_?"

"Hush, silly man, and kiss me."

He pretended to think it over before he shrugged. "Yeah, okay," he said, and they were both smiling like drunk idiots when their lips met.


	17. The Call

The feel of his mouth on the back of her neck dragged her out of sleep: he licked and nipped, kissed and bit down, and she wiggled and laughed.

"Ortiz," she murmured, "what are you doing?"

"Waking you up. Look, it worked."

"Mmmm. Yeah, I guess it did."

She twisted around to face him and looped her arms around his neck. He sucked her earlobe and kissed along the line of her jaw.

"What time do you have to be at work?"

"Um. It's my day off."

"Weren't you off yesterday?" he said as he trailed his nose against her throat.

"Yep. Two days off in a row; it's like a miracle."

"Lucky me," he breathed.

Their lips met, their tongues, and as she slid a leg up his thigh she could feel him hard and urgent against her. "You want me, Juicy?"

"You know I do."

"Good," she said. "Because God knows I want you."

He smirked. "If you weren't so damn stubborn we could've been doin' this for weeks now."

"I—" A frown scrunched her face and she looked away, but his finger under her chin brought her back.

"Hey," he said, "I was just kidding. I wanted—I wanted it to be right. For both of us."

"Does this feel right, Ortiz?"

"Yeah, Gable." He dipped his head to kiss her just behind the ear. "It feels totally right. It feels like what I've been waitin' for my whole life."

Her breath caught. Jesus what a thing to say. "Me too," she whispered after a moment. There were tears in her eyes, but luckily he was too busy to notice. "Me too, Juan Carlos." She cleared her throat and put on a smile.

"So what's on Javy's agenda for today?"

"Hum." He thought it over as he kissed his way down her chest. "Maybe some sex with his gorgeous wife?"

"Sounds like fun."

"Yep. Then breakfast." He flicked his tongue over her nipple.

"Most important meal of the day," she said on a breath.

"True." He sucked it between his lips. "After that, maybe more sex."

"My goodness!" she said, running her fingers through his hair. "That sounds like a very athletic morning."

"Beats goin' to the gym," he said with a grin. He ran his tongue in a line to her bellybutton, but as he started to move lower she pulled him back.

He kissed her, but his expression was puzzled. "Babe, is there some reason you don't want me to go down on you?"

She tried to play it off, her tone easy and casual. "What would make you think that?"

"Olivia," he said.

"Juice."

"Please talk to me, Liv. Whatever it is, just say it."

A quick, hard sigh. Then, finally, "It's just—it's so  _intimate_ , that's all. Your mouth, my—"

"Sweet beautiful pussy I'm desperate to get my mouth on?"

She blushed. "Um. Sure, I guess."

"Baby." He kissed her, long and soft. "I know how you hate anything that even hints at intimacy—"

"Juice!"

"And I'm not gonna pressure you or anything. Just know my tongue stands ready and willing whenever you change your mind. It really wants to meet your clit. I think they'd get along. They could start off slow: get a drink. Then maybe see a movie. See where it goes from there."

By the time he finished his little speech she was giggling and shoving at his shoulder to make him move. "You're such an ass, Ortiz."

"That might be true," she said with an unconcerned shrug as he rolled away. "But I know you love me."

She went still a moment before she flipped onto her stomach. She didn't want him to see her face. He twisted toward her and ran a warm palm along her spine.

"You don't have to say it again. It's okay."

"I do love you, Ortiz," she said.

He kissed the curve of her ear. "Liv, it's okay. I know." His hand paused at the swell of her hip and he traced the complex lines of a tattoo she had there. "What's this mean?"

"Um." She shifted a little. "It's, um. It's  _Andrei_. In Cyrillic. He has—or had, maybe he's changed it—one with my…my fake name. On his arm."

"Olivia—"

"You can love someone and still hurt them," she said in a rush. "Love doesn't protect you from anything."

"Do you really believe that?" He still had his hand cupped around her hip, over the tattoo, and he left it there as he slid on top of her, to lie along her back.

"I loved him," she said. "I still did my job."

He bit her shoulder, gently, and sucked the soft skin. "You did what you had to do, sweetheart. He was a bad man."

"What does that make me?" She shifted a little so that his erection pressed against the cleft of her ass. "I loved him, knowing full well what he was, so what does that make me?"

"Human. Like you said." He kissed a trail across her back, from shoulder blade to shoulder blade.

"So is it better to do the right thing for the wrong reasons, or the wrong thing for the right reasons?"

He went still. "How are there right reasons for doing the wrong thing?" he said.

She wanted to see his face. Something about his voice sounded—on second thought, maybe this was better. "I don't know, Juicy," she said. "I think betraying someone you love, who loves you, is the wrong thing. But he was a criminal, and I was  _there_  to betray him."

He ran both hands up her sides and she shivered beneath him.

"Or, like, Jean Val Jean," she continued. "He stole bread—technically the wrong thing to do—to feed his family."

When he reached for a condom she stopped him. "Are you sure?" he said.

"Please," she whispered. "Please just—"

He nudged her legs apart to settle between them, and as he rained wet, sucking kisses down her neck and shoulders, he slid into her. "Like that?" he mumbled, roughly.

"God yes," she breathed.

She lifted a little so he could get a hand under her and on her breast, and as he pinched and tugged at the nipple he started to move. She braced her palms against the headboard and moaned as he thrust deep.

"I love you," he rasped in her ear. "I love you so much, Olivia."

"I know, Juicy," she gasped. "I love you too."

His fingers tightened around her hip. She knew there'd be bruises later, new ones to cover the fading marks from the day on the table. She wanted them, reveled in them, and they both cried out as she bucked against him.

"Feels so good, baby," she said. "Love your cock in me!"

"I know you do, Livvie. I know you do." His breath was hot on her neck, his teeth sharp, his lips soft and urgent. His hand left her breast to press against the headboard next to hers, and he moved harder. Faster.

"Yes!" she whimpered. "Yes, love, God that's so good!"

Their bodies were slippery with sweat, and the feel of his chest on her back, his pelvis tight against her ass, just made her more desperate for him. He let go of her hip and his fingers dipped between her thighs to find her clit.

"Tell me how good I make you feel, baby. Tell me how much you love it when I fuck you," he said, rough and low.

She shuddered. "Fuck, Juicy, it's so good! You're so goddamn good and I love it so much! I can't—fuck, I can't—!"

"You want my mouth on you?" He bit the curve of her ear. "You want me to lick that sweet pink pussy until you come all over my tongue? I'll eat you all up, Livvie."

"Yes!" she cried. "Fuck yes yes  _yes_!"

"Later, baby. I promise, Liv. I'm gonna lick you so good, sweetheart, so goddamn good—fuck, Olivia, come for me, sweetheart, come for me!"

He swirled his fingertips over her clit and ground into her. He hit her G-spot every time he moved; her head lifted off the pillow and her body bowed as it built and built.

"Oh God yes oh God that's it, that's it, don't stop!  _Fuck_!" The last was barely a whisper, and when the orgasm hit it left her speechless, her entire body taut as bone-deep shudders wracked her.

"Yeah, yes, yeah like that, Livvie, just like that!"

Her hips rocked, up toward him to take him deeper, down into the hand pressed against her clit. His palm closed over the hand she had on the headboard, and he curled his fingers to entwine with hers.

"God, Juicy," she moaned. "What  _is_  that?"

He knew what she meant: something about her, something about the two of them together, was so goddamn…he didn't have a word. Perfect? Incredible? She must have felt it, too, and she didn't understand it any more than he did.

"I don't know," he grated. "Fuck, baby, I don't know."

She wanted to come again, could feel it building like hot waves through her thighs and belly. He seemed to sense it, and he circled his hips with his cock deep inside. The pressure on her G-spot was fucking amazing, scalding little bursts of pleasure that she bucked into him to get more of.

"Good girl," he said. "That's it, that's good, take what you want. It's all for you, baby, whatever you want. Love you so much."

"Wanna feel you come, Juicy!"

He gave a strained chuckle, almost a grunt. "Don't worry, Liv; that'll be happenin' real fuckin' soon."

Her body jerked beneath his and he felt her clench around him. She turned her head to sink her teeth into the hard muscle of his arm, and the sharp pain sent him over the edge with her.

"Goddamn, baby, fuck that's—fuck!" Words failed him, except her name, and he chanted it again and again as he pumped into her. Stars exploded in front of his eyes, and she trembled in the grip of her own orgasm.

It finally began to subside for both of them, and they collapsed together in a boneless, sweating heap. He somehow managed to roll off of her, really more an ungraceful sort of flop onto his back, and his chest heaved as he tried to get his breath back.

She lay still, her own lungs scrambling for air, and he let a hand fall to tangle in her bright hair.

"Jesus," he said on a rough exhale.

"Uh huh," she said without lifting her head from the pillow.

"How many—?"

"Three?" she said. "I think." She turned onto her side with a shaky sigh. "I don't know; the last two sort of blended together."

"Does that—?"

"No." Her eyes flicked to his and held. "No, Juice. It rarely ever happens."

"Oh," he said. He cupped her face in his hand and kissed her, his mouth warm and eager, and he felt her smile against his lips.

A beep sounded from the nightstand and his chin dropped. "Shit," he said.

"Is that your phone?"

"Yeah." He kissed her again. "Hang on. Don't move." His nightstand drawer was as neat as everything else in the room, she noticed when he opened it. The phone—Juice's phone, not Javy's—was near the back. She draped herself over his shoulder to kiss and nibble at his neck while she got a peek at the unlock code.

Long form, just like Olivia and Sophie's.

He cursed again when he saw the message. "It's the Trojan. It's getting something." He smiled back at her, distracted. "I set it to alert me if certain words or phrases were typed in."

"Oh," she said. "What is it?"

"I don't know. I've gotta—where did I—? Fuck. My laptop's in the other room." He disentangled himself and grabbed a pair of shorts from his underwear drawer. "Stay here, okay? I'll be right back."

"You better be," she said. "You promised me breakfast."

He leaned down to press a long, lingering kiss on her full mouth. "Breakfast will be served, madame." Dropping the phone beside her, he gave her one last kiss before he disappeared out the door.

She waited until his footsteps were well down the hall before she snatched the phone up. He hadn't locked it again. Was he that distracted? That seemed hard to believe.

No time to worry about it now. She checked his browser history, but it was clean. Apps were standard fair, nothing to raise her suspicions. A couple of texts: her, back before they went undercover; the captain; someone who sounded like his mom.

Those made her smile, no matter how she fought it:  _Juan Carlos, are you eating? You're too skinny! Call me,_  mijo. Then,  _Juan Carlos, there's a lovely girl at my church I think you would like. Call me._  A third one:  _Juan Carlos, the faucet is leaking again. I made_  pasteles. _Call me._

She sighed and moved on. It didn't do her any good to think about Juice's mother worrying over him and making him food and trying to set him up with lovely girls at her church. Olivia opened his contacts. Most of them were names and numbers she didn't recognize, of course, but there was one in his recents that appeared several times. A voicemail from the same number, but when she listened there was nothing. Silence and a brief beep before it went dead.

She closed her eyes and squeezed the phone. "Don't do this," she whispered. "Let it go. Tell them you couldn't find anything. Don't do this."

But she had to, even if only for herself. She hit the  _call back_  button and waited.

Two rings in a familiar, irritated voice answered. "Goddammit, Ortiz," the woman hissed. "You aren't supposed to call this number. Get your hand off your dick and use your head." She hung up as abruptly as she'd answered, and Olivia pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle a sob.

Gemma. The voice had belonged to Gemma Teller.

Olivia scrambled to her feet, pushing off the bed so fast she almost fell. Juice appeared at the end of the hall just as she burst through his door, and he paused when he saw her.

"Liv?" he said. "Liv, what's wrong?" His eyes slid down, caught on the phone in her hand, and went big. "Olivia—"

"Stay the fuck away from me," she said, backing slowly toward her bedroom door.

"Olivia, wait. Please. I can explain. Just wait!"

He took off toward her as her hand hit the knob, and she stumbled backwards and slammed it shut. A mad scramble for her own phone, and she had it in her hand when he exploded into her room.

"Please, Livvie, please—"

"Don't call me that!" she cried. "You lying motherfucker, don't you call me that! You don't have any right!"

She was sobbing, breathless with it and nearly blinded by her tears, but she managed to hit Chibs' number on her speed dial. Juice surged forward, his hand held out.

"Don't! Olivia, stop!"

"It's Ortiz," she said when she heard Chibs' voice. "Ortiz is the mole and I have proof."

He yanked the phone out of her hand and threw it against the wall so hard it shattered. "Olivia, no! Holy shit, we've gotta go. We've gotta get out of here."

"They're coming for you. They were just waiting on my word. They'll be here—"

"Not the fucking cops, Olivia! They cops aren't coming! Or, fuck, maybe they are, but they won't get here fast enough."

"You gonna kill me, Ortiz? Why am I not surprised?"

"Stop!" he said. He scraped both hands through his hair and turned in a circle. When he faced her again his expression was desperate and pleading. "Olivia, baby, you don't understand. I had no choice!"

"Fuck you.  _Fuck you_! That's what everybody says! What did they offer you, Ortiz? Money? Money to fuck me and keep me distracted?" She narrowed her eyes and color rode high on her cheeks. "Now which one of us is the whore?"

"Goddammit," he breathed. "Fuck goddamn I wish you'd just—why didn't you—Olivia, why didn't you  _ask_  me? I would've explained everything!" He spun away again and started to dig through her bureau. "You've gotta get dressed, sweetheart. You've gotta get out of here."

She stared at him, uncomprehending. "Don't you think it's you who needs to get dressed? They're coming to arrest you, asshole."

"No, Olivia." He gripped the edge of a drawer so hard the wood creaked. He turned slowly. Tears traced down his cheeks and he scrubbed his palm over his face. "Your phone. It's tapped. I tapped it."

She barked out a rusty, humorless laugh. "Of course you fucking did. Of  _course_  you tapped my phone!" She flew at him, a furious little storm, and he caught her wrists in gentle hands as she tried to beat against his chest.

"How dare you?" she screamed. "How  _dare_  you? I  _loved_  you, Juice! I loved you so much, and you were—you were  _lying_  the whole time!"

"No," he whispered. "I never lied about that. I swear to you. Never."

"Fuck you!"

"I know," he said. "I know! But, Gable, listen." He shook her once, hard. "Jax Teller will be here any minute. It will take time for them to scramble a team to come arrest me. Jax will get here first. Are you  _listening_  to me, Olivia? I'm trying to save your life!"

Her head lolled insensibly for a moment before she snapped back into focus and shoved away from him. "Bullshit," she hissed. "Why the fuck would you care?"

"I did the wrong thing for the right reasons, Olivia. You said it yourself."

"Go to hell, Ortiz. I'm done listening to you."

"You need to go," he said. He sounded dazed, helpless and broken. "You need to go."

She snatched her clothes away from him. "Get the fuck out. If you're smart you'll run. Run back to the Tellers and hope to God they'll protect you."

"Oh, sweetheart; you shoulda listened to your boyfriend."

Olivia's blood ran cold. How had she not—? He must have slipped in while they were fighting, and she'd missed the sound of it.

Juice's chin fell to rest against his chest. "I told you," he said.

Jax strolled into the room; he held a gun he didn't bother to point at her, and his grin was cocky. "Put your clothes on, darlin'," he said with a leer. "We've got some business."


	18. Why

Jax, with Happy's help, secured her wrists behind her with wire ties and shoved a black bag over her head. It was a long, bumpy ride in the back of a van, and when they finally stopped and dragged her out, the scent of the air and the noises told her they were in the country somewhere.

Was he just going to put a bullet in her head and drop her in an unmarked grave? Game over, that fast?

Surely not. They'd brought Juice, too, and it would've been much easier to make it look like he'd killed her and bolted.

Someone yanked on her arm to get her moving, and she stumbled across uneven ground until they were out of the sun. The space sounded big, and she could smell…gun oil? And hay, maybe.

"She here yet?" Jax said.

"Nah." Opie. "She called. Wants us to meet her there."

She who? Had to be Gemma.

"Shit," said Jax. "You got the partner, right? The Scottish guy?"

Olivia couldn't muffle a sound of distress, and Jax jerked her quiet. "Calm down," he said. "We didn't kill him."

"We don't really want the heat of dead cops on our door," a third voice said. Happy, she thought, but she wasn't sure. She'd hardly ever heard him speak. "Though I could make sure nobody ever found either one of you."

Definitely Happy.

"Let's just wait to see what she has to say," Opie said. "No need to kill anybody yet. Yeah, I got him."

"Good. Get these two put away then meet me at the van. I guess we gotta go attend Her Majesty."

He shoved Olivia and she nearly fell until strong arms caught her.

"Breathe," Opie whispered in her ear. "It's gonna be okay."

He guided her through a door, then cut the bonds on her wrists. When he pulled off the hood she blinked in the sudden rush of light.

Juice hovered in the doorway, and Opie gestured him closer. "What?" he said.

"You too, man. Boss's orders."

"You serious?"

"Just gotta love that sting of betrayal. Huh, Ortiz?" Olivia said.

Opie cast her a look. "Rat and Phil are gonna be right outside. Be quiet, be calm, don't start shit, and I might be able to get you out of this alive."

"Best friends since birth, Opie. How can either of us trust a word you say?"

He glowered. "Try it for once. You never know; you might even like it."

The heavy reinforced door banged shut behind him and there was the sound of a lock. They stood in tense silence until it went quiet outside, then Olivia spun around and started searching.

"What are you doing?" Juice said.

She thought about ignoring him, but two sets of eyes were better than one. "Look everywhere. We need—anything. A weak spot. A seam. Something we could use as a weapon."

He stared around them in consternation. It was a small space, rectangular, with a low ceiling. The walls were metal, and the floor and ceiling. "I think it's a storage unit," he said. "That kind you can move around."

She took a deep breath. "Okay. Then look for surveillance. A camera. A bug."

He took off his watch and flipped it over. Twisted first one way, then the other.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she said.

"You don't have a pacemaker do you?"

"You know the answer to that question," she said with an irritated frown.

His brows lifted in a shrug and he moved to the center of the little room. Twisted his watch one last time and squeezed it between his fingers, like a button. "EM pulse," he said. "Very short range. But anything within a ten-foot radius has just been disabled."

The room was maybe ten by twelve, so chances were good he'd just taken care of any surveillance equipment.

"Jesus Christ. Q include a blow torch with that thing?"

"Nah. Q's overrated. I built this myself."

"Hum. I thought I was the one good with the hardware."

"I was paying attention when you rebuilt the blender." He put it back together and around his wrist again. "I wasn't really planning for quite this situation, though."

"I bet you weren't," she said with a wry twist to her mouth.

"Olivia—"

"Please don't," she said.

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm gonna say it anyway."

She sighed and turned away. "Fine," she said. "Knock yourself out."

"I didn't do it for money. They aren't paying me."

"Sold yourself cheap. Kinda stupid."

"They aren't paying me," he repeated, his voice going harsh. "The day after we moved in next door to Jax Teller you went to the grocery store. Remember?"

She cast a look over her shoulder, brow furrowed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Gemma showed up while you were out. She had like—she had a fucking casserole, said she wanted to welcome us to the neighborhood. So I let her in."

She was silent, but something about the cant of her head made him think she was listening.

"I offered her a drink, and while I was making tea she pulled a gun on me. She said she knew we were cops, and if I didn't do what she said she would have you killed. She showed me pictures on her phone: you, at the grocery store, like right then. Real time, Liv."

She turned toward him; her look was incredulous. "What the fuck, Ortiz? Are you trying to say you did this to  _protect_  me? Why didn't you just say something? We're partners! We have each other's backs!"

"It wasn't just you," he said. "She did the same thing for my mom and my sister. She said they'd kill you one by one until they got what they wanted."

"Juice!" Her head fell back. "Juice, they wouldn't have done that."

"She seemed pretty sincere," he said.

"I know it." She scraped a wary hand down her face and slumped against the metal wall. "Juice, sweetheart, no. If your family members suddenly started dropping they would pull us. They would know we'd been made. And if they'd killed me, or I'd disappeared, that would've been it. Op closed."

"They didn't shut you down when your partner got made on the Glazkov case."

"Yeah," she said. "I don't think it's a mistake they'd made again."

"How the fuck was I supposed to know that?" he cried.

"You could have come to me!"

"Like you came to me about your suspicions? You looked through my shit. How long did you suspect?"

"I couldn't come to you with that, Ortiz. You're the fucking mole. I couldn't tip my hand."

"Jesus," he said. "Fuck, Olivia, I was trying to help you."

She shoved herself upright and took a step closer. "Help me? Help me by betraying me? By selling me out to the fucking Tellers?"

He looked away, and when he spoke again his voice was low. "Jax wanted to sleep with you and feed you false info. It was his whole plan. I talked him out of it, and talked  _you_  out of it, too. I came up with the idea of the virus and convinced you both it was the better plan."

"Because you wanted me for yourself! Do you think that makes it okay?"

"No! I mean, yes. Yes, I did—do—want you, but that wasn't why. I didn't want him using you like that. It wasn't right."

"Excuse me if I'm a little skeptical of your moral high ground at this point." She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. "So the virus. That was just bullshit? A MacGuffin?"

"No," he said. "It was designed so that they could use it against us. Give us false info while still conducting their regular business."

"Nice," she muttered.

"I built it in two layers. The top layer does what they want. My computer's chock full of bullshit."

"And the bottom layer?" she said.

"It does what I told you it does. Every keystroke. Every website. The truth. All that's on my computer, too, and if I don't log in within the next eight hours it gets sent directly to Roosevelt."

She drew in a sharp breath. "Eight hours? Jesus, that's a long time for them to decide we're too much trouble to keep alive."

"I know. But if I made the window any smaller it might've gotten fucked up while I was sleeping or something." He paused. "There's info about me in there. That I'm the mole. I didn't want to be exposed prematurely."

"No," she said with a cynical tilt to her mouth. "You were in the perfect position, weren't you? Between my goddamn legs!"

"That's not fair," he said. "You didn't sleep with me until after you knew. So if anyone was using sex—"

"Oh no!" She leapt toward him and jabbed her finger in his face. "Don't you  _dare_. I meant every single word I said to you. I meant—I meant all of it. I slept with you because I hoped Telford was wrong about you. I was _desperate_  for him to be wrong, because how could  _I_  have been so wrong? I trusted you, Ortiz. I believed in you!"

"I know," he said. "There's nothing I can say, except I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't know how else to keep the people I love safe."

"We could have kept them safe together! Don't you get that?"

He cupped her face and she slapped his hand away. With a rough sigh he reached for her again, and he ignored her attempts to fight her off. His palms cradled her jaw and he lifted her chin until their eyes met.

"You, Olivia. I didn't know how else to keep  _you_  safe. By the time Gemma got to me I was already half in love with you. You say you meant all of it? So did I, Liv. I swear to you. I never lied about how I feel."

Tears had gathered in her eyes, and now they fell to roll down her cheeks and over his fingers. "How can I believe you?" she said, her voice tiny and hopeless. "How can I believe a word you say?"

"Think about it," he said. "This morning. Last night. The nights I spent in your bed. Even that day on the desk. When I kissed you in the car after I told you the engagement story."

"That stupid engagement story," she said through her sniffles.

"That engagement story is how much I love you, Olivia." His hand slipped to wrap around the back of her neck, and he pulled her closer so that their foreheads were pressed together. "If I could change anything it would be how we met. I would remake our lives so we could end up in that apartment with that Chinese food and we could live that fucking story. That's the life I want with you. Not this one with lies and secrets and the threat of unmarked graves hanging over our heads.

"I did the wrong thing for the right reasons, baby. I'm so sorry. I didn't know what else to do. I'm sorry."

"Shut up, Ortiz," she gasped. "Just shut up."

And then she was kissing him. He could taste the salt of her tears mingled with the sweetness of her mouth, and he brought her with him as he fell against the wall. Her teeth sank into his lip and his hands skated down to grasp her blouse. It came apart with a rip; buttons flew and she let out a hard breath.

"Ortiz—!"

He spun them around and tangled his fingers in her hair. Worked the button on her jeans as he kissed her. A quick yank had her pants around her ankles, and she laughed.

"Are you sure this is appropriate timing?"

"Absolutely not," he said. His lips skimmed the side of her neck and she unbuckled his belt. "But that's us, isn't it? Our timing's always been off."

"I don't know," she breathed. "It was workin' pretty well this morning." She grasped his cock and squeezed. "Opie said Rat and Phil are just outside."

"Then you'll have to keep it down, won't you?"

"Juice, they could be back any minute!"

"We'll make it quick." He hooked his hands beneath her knees and brought them up around his thighs, and she guided his cock so that the tip was pressed against her. "I love you, Olivia," he said, his eyes steady on hers.

"I love you too, Juice," she whispered.

He kissed her to catch her moan as he thrust in, hard and deep, and held there. "Say it again," he rasped against her lips.

"I love you."

He pulled back and plunged in again. Her body arched into him and her fingers curled in his t-shirt. "Your turn," she said.

"I love you." He kissed her temple. His hand moved between them and he pinched her clit with his knuckles. "I love you."

"Juicy!" she breathed. "Don't stop!" She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in the curve of his neck. He braced his free hand against the wall and began to move, rough, intense jerks that made her bite down to muffle her cries.

"Love you so much, baby. You make me  _nuts_ , God, you always have," he mumbled into her hair. "Never wanna hurt you, Livvie, just wanna keep you safe, make you feel good."

"I know, Juicy. Fuck, I know!"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just wanted—"

"Hush," she said. She pressed her fingers to his mouth. "Be quiet, Ortiz, and fuck me. Please. I need to feel you."

He did as she commanded, working his knuckles around her clit and burying himself deep. "Come for me, baby, need you to come so bad."

He said it like that morning had been a hundred years ago—but considering what had happened between then and now, it might as well have been. He kissed her, kissed her until she was dizzy, and he never let up on her clit, or with that hard, driving rhythm.

"That's it," she breathed. "That's it, that's it, oh my God, please please  _yes_!"

Her orgasm hit suddenly, a surprise storm, and as soon as he felt her clench around him he knew he wouldn't be able to hold on.

She could barely breathe, couldn't speak, and the force of it rocked through her in wave after wave. He made her feel so fucking good, so mindlessly good, so—so  _gone_ —it couldn't be a lie it couldn't it couldn't.

"Please, Juicy, please!" she gasped.

"Fuck, Livvie, fuck gonna come so hard for you, gonna—goddamn, baby, love you love you love you!"

She tugged at his hair, and he pressed his face to her shoulder to smother his cries. Every time felt like the first time with her, every time was crazy and delicious and amazing, and he knew he'd never get enough.

The aftershocks finally started to pass for both of them, and he rained kisses all over her face and shoulders and neck. "I'm not gonna let them hurt you, Olivia. I don't care what I've gotta do. You're gettin' out of this."

Her smile was sweet as she gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Big promises, Juan Carlos."

He lowered her gently to the floor and took a step back. She stripped off her ripped blouse—she was glad she'd put a tank on underneath it—and cleaned herself up a bit before she tossed it in the corner. He helped get her jeans back into place, and as she buckled his belt they couldn't stop kissing.

"I mean it, baby," he said between kisses. "I've fucked this up enough. I'm not fucking up any more." He grasped her face his hands, and rested his forehead on hers. "Do you trust me, Olivia? Can you still trust me?"

And there it was, the crux of the matter. Love was one thing. Love, in some ways, was  _easy_. Trust was a whole different ballgame.

She drew in a long breath. Her fingers caught the back of his neck and and she wondered if he could hear how hard her heart pounded.

"Yes, Juice," she said at last. "Yes, I trust you."


	19. Games

Juice was propped against the back wall and Olivia sat curled next to him with her head on his chest. He toyed with the trailing ends of her hair as they tried to make plans.

"We don't have enough information," she said. "We know we're maybe an hour away from the house, but what direction? We're in the country, but…"

"I think we're in some sort of warehouse," he said. "Or, I don't know, a barn used as a warehouse?"

"Yeah, that would make sense. How long did they have your bag off?"

"Two seconds longer than yours, and the only thing I saw was the inside of this room."

She chewed on her lip and gave a slow shake of her head. "It's too dangerous. We don't know how many men they've got, what ingress and egress looks like, what they're even planning. We can't make a move until we know more."

He trailed a fingertip along her jaw then down her neck. "Do you trust Opie?"

"He's Jackson Teller's best friend, one of his top men."

"That's not what I asked, Liv."

"Honestly?" There was a long pause while she weighed it. "I don't know. How can I? There's no way he's on our side."

"He said he'd try to get us out of alive."

"I know what he said." She pushed herself upright, so that all he could see was her bent head and the curve of her back. "Right now the only people we can trust are each other." A long look over her shoulder. "Okay?"

He sat up and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Okay, Liv," he said, kissing her temple. He pulled her with him as he leaned against the wall again, and her hand fell to land on his thigh.

"Most important thing: they have to think we hate each other."

"You don't think Rat and Phil heard what we were up to?"

"Doesn't matter. Hate sex." She tapped a finger against his leg. " _A house divided_  and all that. If they think we're on the same team they'll split us up. After that it's just a matter of time."

"What about your partner?"

"Fuck," she muttered. "We can't leave him. He's basically my best friend."

He made a low noise.

"I don't get out much," she said. "And the Andrei thing kind of soured me on interpersonal relationships in general. My last girlfriend got sick of it and gave up." She shivered, chilly in just her tank, and Juice lifted her so that she was between his legs, her back pressed to his chest. He wrapped both arms around her.

"Better?" he said.

"Getting there."

"She didn't think you were worth the fight?" he said, his tone slightly wondering.

"She did fight. A lot. But…" She fell quiet. He tangled his fingers with hers and waited her out. "I'm thirty-three years old, and until you Andrei is the only person I've ever fallen in love with. It doesn't come easy. Sex"—a wry chuckle—"sex is easy. Love is a fucking mess."

"And trust is even harder than that."

"Exactly."

He snorted out a laugh.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing. Just—you realize we're having one of the most intimate conversations we've ever had while being held prisoner in a portable storage locker?"

"Hum. Yeah, impending death does that, I guess."

"You're not gonna die, Olivia," he said. "Not today."

She brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. "I love you, Juice."

"I know," he said. "I love you too." He grinned and ducked his head. "Do you remember the night we marathoned all the Chucky movies?"

"Oh God!" she said with half a laugh. "How could I forget? You know I'd been avoiding them for a reason."

"Uh huh. But you had a good time, right?"

"I did. Mostly because I was with you."

"Uh oh," he said. "Is that Olivia Gable getting sentimental?  _Sappy_  even?"

"Shut up, Ortiz. I just meant—it was dumb, but fun. And, like, I can't imagine having fun watching a bunch of awful movies about a killer doll with anyone but you. That's all."

"I don't know," he said. "Sounds borderline sappy to me."

She twisted around to face him and nipped at his jaw. "Maybe it is, a little. I'm okay with that."

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his thumb across her mouth. "Me too." His expression clouded. "What the fuck are we gonna do when we get out of here?"

"You mean am I going to turn you in?"

He frowned and looked away. "Yeah, maybe."

"It might not be up to me, Juice. It was Chibs I talked to when I called his number. He knows. And besides—"

Her brow furrowed. "Juice, why did you leave your phone unlocked?"

"What?" he said.

"This morning. The virus thing beeped, you kissed me, and then you dropped your phone on the bed unlocked."

"Uh." He hitched a shoulder. "I guess I just forgot. Kissing you can be kind of distracting."

"Bullshit. Not for someone like you." She lifted his chin so that they were eye to eye. "You did it on purpose. You wanted me to figure it out."

Silence was the only answer she needed.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" she said.

"How do I say something like that, Olivia? I didn't realize you'd react quite so—violently. I thought I'd have a chance to talk to you. Like, you'd come to me."

"I'd spent the last week trying to convince myself it wasn't you. I didn't know how else to react."

"I guess it was…I was desperate. Jax was getting impatient. He didn't like the idea of the virus, and after what happened in the garage that day…"

"Juice." She traced her fingers across his cheek, her touch feather-light. "Why did you punch him? You know we didn't sleep together."

"I know. I'd been trying to talk him out of the whole thing for weeks, and he wasn't fucking listening. And you weren't either. When I saw him at the garage that day he was acting so…like so fucking  _smug_. It pissed me off."

"I wish you'd hit him harder," she said.

"I wish Opie hadn't broken us up."

There was a sudden commotion outside, the sound of the lock, and Olivia took his face in her hands. "Don't believe anything I say out there, Juice. I love you. Remember that I love you."

"I know, Liv," he said and kissed her hard. "I love you too."

She scrambled away from him and arranged herself in the opposite corner, her posture relaxed and seemingly unconcerned. The door opened to Happy and Opie.

"Bring 'em both," Opie said.

Happy grinned and started toward Olivia, but Opie stopped him. "You take Ortiz. I got her."

He looked disappointed, but he shrugged like it was no matter. Opie helped her to her feet (she wasn't feigning the stiffness in her legs from the cold metal floor) and secured her wrists behind her with the ubiquitous wire ties.

"Too tight?" he said.

She cast a frown over her shoulder. "What's it matter? Aren't we on our way to the firing squad?"

"Nah," said Happy. He pushed Juice ahead of him and grinned at Olivia. "Somebody wants to meet you."

"Who?" Olivia said. She'd had contact with nearly everyone in their organization thanks to her job at the garage. Who else was there left to meet?

By then they were out in the warehouse. Opie stopped her with an easy tug on her arm. "Her," he said.

Their eyes hadn't adjusted to the brightness after the dim confines of the storage locker, so it took a moment for either of them to see the woman in question. She was tall, blonde, and as she turned around Olivia's breath caught.

"Wendy?" she breathed.

Juice blinked. Wendy. Hadn't that been her partner's name? The one Andrei Glazkov had murdered?

"Hi, partner," the woman said, her crimson mouth moving in a smirk. "It's been  _way_  too long."

* * *

Olivia stumbled and would have gone down, but Opie's strong hand was steady on her arm.

"Whoa," he said. "Whoa, breathe."

But she couldn't. She couldn't breathe. The air had been sucked out of the room and everything was spinning and her vision was darkening and—

"Jesus," Opie said. He scooped her up and hustled over to a hay bale, where he dropped her and forced her to put her head between her knees.

"I guess she's surprised to see me," Wendy said with an amused quirk of her mouth.

"She told me you were dead," said Juice.

Wendy wagged her head back and forth. She seemed utterly tickled by this whole fucking thing, especially Olivia's reaction to it, and Juice had the very strong urge to punch her face in. He'd never wanted to hit a woman before.

Happy must have sense some of it, because he yanked his arm hard. "Relax, pretty boy," he said.

Meanwhile on the hay bale Olivia was finally getting her bearings again. "Could you undo my hands?" she said to Opie.

"You know I can't."

She let out a rough sigh. "Okay," she said. "Just help me up then."

"You aren't gonna pass out?"

"No," she said. Her smile was shaky. "I'm okay. Thanks for not letting me faint."

"Yeah, well. I figured you'd be pretty pissed if you swooned. This ain't 1892."

"You two lovebirds okay over there?" Wendy said. "Care to rejoin the class?"

"Come on," said Opie. "Let's get you up."

She wobbled on her feet but then steadied and pushed away from him. She walked toward Wendy, her head high and her eyes narrowed. "What the fuck, Case? Everyone thought you were dead. The Glazkovs made you and you disappeared. No one's heard from you in years."

"Did you know  _Wendy_   _Case_  isn't my real name? I mean, I changed it, but it's not the name I was born with."

"That's fascinating," Olivia said.

"It is when you find out what my original name was. I've changed it back, incidentally." She leaned close, until her face was inches from Olivia's. "Castillo," she said, with unrestrained delight.

" _Castillo_?" Juice echoed like he hadn't heard right. "You're fucking with us."

"I fuck you not," Wendy said. "I was born little Alma Castillo. Not in a manger. In a villa. A very  _large_  villa."

Olivia knew the name  _Castillo_. Everyone in law enforcement in a hundred countries did.

"Owned by the goddamn Galindo cartel," she said.

"That's right, sweetie. Of course I decided at a very young age I wanted no part of all that bullshit. Moved to the States, changed my name, got rid of my accent—and became a cop."

"Jesus Christ," said Olivia. "Was any of it real, or was it all a cover?"

Wendy sighed and shook her head. "You used to be a better listener than this, Gable. It was  _all_  real. I was a good cop! Then we got in deep with the Glazkovs and I got made."

"What happened?" Juice said. "You got an offer you couldn't refuse?"

"Something like that," she said with an unconcerned shrug. "I was given the option of death or going home. I chose to go home."

"Why didn't you sell me out?" Olivia said.

"I told you, Ollie. I was a good cop."

"Then what the fuck is this? You've got two cops—three, apparently, if you've still got Telford—tied up in a barn somewhere. You're the one who made me, right? And sent Gemma after Ortiz?"

" _This_  is good business. We've got too much riding on this deal with the Tellers to let it fall through because of a couple of over-enthusiastic cops playing house."

Olivia and Juice shared a quick glance. They hadn't known about anything with the cartel, but it explained a few things. Juice had been kept busy spying on Olivia; Olivia had been kept busy following red herrings; and meanwhile the whole deal went on under their noses.

Except Juice had planted that virus, and in four hours or so it would be zipping its way to Roosevelt's email. And, according to Juice, still doing its job.

"I thought we were friends, Wendy. Partners. That meant something."

"Oh boohoo. Cry me a river, sweetheart. You could be dead right now, do you get that? Teller wanted to put a bullet in both your heads. I talked him out of it. I set this whole thing up, and now you're  _complaining_?"

"Great. I guess I should be thanking you."

"Damn straight you should! Do you think this was easy? Any of it? Juggling this murder-happy idiot"—she jerked a thumb at Jax—"and this love-sick puppy dog"—a gesture at Juice—"all while trying to keep this deal together? I deserve a fucking medal."

"Oh my God," Olivia said. "Look, could you maybe just kill me and get it over with? Dying of boredom is a fucking awful way to go."

"I'm not gonna kill you, Gable," Wendy said with a brief smile.

"Then put me back in the cell, because I don't really have much left to say to you."

"I think you will." She turned away and nodded toward Jax. "Since you're so bored, why don't we play a game?"

"I think we're all a little tired of games," Juice said.

"You would say that, wouldn't you, cutie pie?" She pinched his chin between her fingers. "Honestly, Gable, I don't blame you. If I'd had to share a place with him for two months I would've gone for it, too."

"I always was a sucker for a pretty face," Olivia said.

"And a cute ass," said Wendy. She gave a regretful shrug and wandered back toward Olivia. "Cut her loose," she said to Opie.

He hesitated, but after a moment did as she instructed. Meanwhile Jax reappeared, and stumbling along in front of him was a beaten and bloody Chibs. Olivia's eyes went wide when she saw him, and Wendy smirked.

"Gable!" he said. His voice was thick from a fat lip, but he sounded furious. "Are y'hurt?"

"No, Chibby. I'm fine. We're gonna get out of this, okay? Just hang in there."

He let out a rusty chuckle. "I've had worse, darlin'."

"I love a good reunion," Wendy said. "Just hits me right here." She tapped two fingers to the center of her chest. "Now! What's a party without party games?"

She walked in a circle around Opie, and her hand slithered into his jacket to emerge with his backup gun. She held it out to Olivia with a cruel little smile.

"You want me to shoot you, Case?"

"I'd rather you didn't. No, that would be a terrible waste of talent." She put the gun in Olivia's hand and moved to stand behind her. She guided the weapon first toward Juice, then toward Chibs. "Lady's choice. But both of them aren't walking out of here alive."

"Case," Opie said. "This is bullshit. Either kill 'em or don't, but don't be a bitch about it."

"Sweetheart." She patted Opie's cheek. "I'm paying you to look big and threatening, not to talk. So please. Shhh."

"You've completely lost your mind," Olivia said. "I'm not doing it."

"Okay," Wendy said. "Kill them both."

Jax and Happy lifted their guns.

"Wait! Wendy, please. You don't have to do this."

"Me? I'm not doing anything. You're the one who's killing both of them rather than just one. So hard to make a choice, isn't it?"

"It's fucking ridiculous. There has to be another way. Something we can work out."

She surged toward Olivia, her face twisting viciously. "Work out? You mean like how you  _worked it out_  with Andrei?"

Olivia's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"You're the one who made me! You told him I was a cop to save your own ass, and it's only because of who my father is that I'm not dead now!"

"No." She shook her head, eyes round in her pale face. "No, Wendy, I didn't. I would never sell you out like that."

"Bullshit," Wendy hissed. "You were fucking besotted with him. He could've put your goddamn grandmother in front of a firing squad and you would've helped pull the trigger."

"No!" She swiped a hand over her eyes. "No, no, it wasn't like that."

"Then explain it to me. Explain how I got made. Explain how you just sat there and  _watched_  it happen and didn't say a fucking thing!"

"What good would it've done for both of us to die? I thought it was too late to help you! I thought—"

"I know what you fucking well  _thought_! You think it's a waste for two cops to die? Good. Then kill one of them, because if you don't I'll kill them both."

She grabbed Olivia's wrist, her sharp nails digging into the delicate skin. "Choose, Olivia! The partner or the lover? Choose!"

"Let go of me!" she cried and wrenched her arm free.

"On the one hand," Wendy continued like Olivia hadn't spoken, "you've got your partner here. The family man. The one who saved your career when you easily could've ruined it.

"But on the  _other_  hand—that sweet, sweet ass."

Olivia glared at her. Her furious gaze darted from Chibs to Juice and back again. Chibs lifted his shoulder in a shrug. Juice had tears in his eyes, but he nodded.

"Fine," Olivia whispered. "Fine, Wendy. You want me to choose?" She lifted the gun. "I'll choose."

The shot echoed in the empty space, and the smell of blood and gunpowder filled the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is kinda like...well, I mean, an au obvs. :) But like what if Wendy followed through on some of the more obsessive/self destructive tendencies she showed before Sutter started using her as ya know. Background decoration.


	20. Then What?

Olivia reeled and nearly fell, but once again Opie caught her. Her ears rang. Opie was saying something. She couldn't make it out, and she shook her head like a wounded animal. He eased the gun out of her numb fingers and put it away.

Olivia stared down at Wendy. There was a hole in her forehead, round and neat. Opie. Opie shot Wendy in the head. She looked up at Opie with wide eyes and he shrugged.

"—had to do it," she caught as her hearing started to return.

"You killed her," she said.

"I think she was a little off, Gable," Opie said. He jerked his chin at Jax, who cut Chibs' bonds, and then to Happy who did the same for Juice.

"Cuttin' it a little close, weren't you, lads?" Chibs said with a glare.

"What the fuck is goin' on?" Juice said.

Jax sighed. "Look, man. We know you got your case, and we're sorry to fuck that up for you, but you're lookin' in the wrong place."

"You guys didn't have a fucking clue the cartel was involved, did you?" Happy said with a snort.

"Telford?" Olivia said, uncertainly. "What's going on?"

"They're Feds, lass."

She blinked and tilted her head toward Juice. He looked just as shocked as she felt.

"All of them?" he said.

"Well not her," said Opie.

"I don't get it," Olivia said. "You guys are on the FBI's payroll?"

"Yup," said Happy. "They made honest men of us." He hitched a shoulder. "Sort of."

"Did Roosevelt know about this?" Juice said.

"Ahhh…aye," said Chibs, reluctantly. "But not until after you two were in."

"When Wendy made you I went to our boss. Told him the deal," Jax said.

"And he went to Roosevelt," said Chibs.

"I am so fucking confused," Olivia said.

"Could we maybe start from the beginning?" said Juice. He and Olivia had gradually drifted closer until they were nearly touching, as though drawn together like magnets, and now they stood in the circle of men and shared quick, surreptitious looks.

"The CIA and the FBI have been working to take down the Galindo cartel," Opie said. "The CIA in Mexico, the Feds here. Not long after Case—uh, Castillo—approached us about helpin' them with their stateside distribution, we got a call from the FBI."

"They threatened RICO, which was fuckin' bullshit," Jax said.

"But they said they'd let it go if we handed them the cartel," Happy said.

Chibs picked up the thread. "Our task force knew somethin' was up, and somethin' big, but we didn't have details. Then Ortiz here came up with his plan, and it seemed like the perfect solution to get someone on the inside. We had no idea Case was still alive, much less—who she was."

"She made you," Jax said with a nod toward Olivia.

"We were gonna pull you," said Chibs. "But Roosevelt realized it was a better idea to keep you busy."

"Gemma approached Ortiz about bein' a mole," Opie said.

"And Telford put the bug in my ear about it," said Olivia. It was just like she'd thought…sort of. She and Juice were kept busy chasing their tails while the Feds let Wendy trap herself and the cartel.

"Why didn't you just tell us?" Juice said.

"We needed you to sell it. Both of you," Chibs said.

"Jesus," Olivia muttered. She turned away and scrubbed a hand over her face. Juice followed her as she stepped into the shadows.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Not really. They fucking played us. All of them. My fucking  _partner_."

"Everybody was lying to everybody."

She glanced at him, and he could just make out her pale features in the low light. "I'm sorry, Juice," she said. "I should've come to you with the shit about the mole."

"I wish you had," he said. "I wish I'd told you about it in the first place."

She smiled and let her fingers brush over the back of his hand as she moved to rejoin the others. "So what now? Wendy's dead. I don't think the boss man's gonna be too happy Opie shot his baby girl."

"Doesn't matter," said Happy. "The buy goes down today. All we gotta do is get him there and our case is made."

"Right," she said with a wry twist to her mouth. She and Juice shared a look.

"And then?" Juice said. "You guys go back to your outlaw ways while the cartel gets dismantled? Who the fuck is gonna trust you when your last business partners got busted?"

"We're takin' our business in a different direction," Jax said.

"A legit direction," said Opie.

"Aren't y'all just fucking Boy Scouts," Olivia said.

"Ach, Gable, I understand you're upset—"

"Upset? Chibs, are you fucking kidding me? Wendy was alive this whole time, and when the moment came she sold me out. Every single person I've talked to in the last two fucking months has been lying to me, including my own goddamn police department. My partners, my bosses, my fucking  _marks_. Everybody!"

"Well," Juice said, "you know. Me too."

Her brows quirked in sardonic acknowledgement. "What about us?" she said. "Ortiz and I just take our toys and go home? Let the big kids take care of things?"

"Pretty much," said Happy.

"And you!" Olivia said, pointing at Jax. "You were going to sleep with me! You were gonna feed me bullshit intel just to get in my pants. You fucking sleaze ball!"

"What can I say, darlin'?" he said in an exaggerated drawl. "You got one hell of a rack."

The look she gave him was one of pure loathing. "I need to get out of here before someone besides Wendy ends up with a bullet in the skull."

"The van's outside," Opie said. "I can give you a ride back to your place."

"Roosevelt will want to debrief," Chibs said.

"Can it wait until tomorrow?" Juice said.

Chibs hesitated, but after a moment he nodded. "Aye. Can't imagine that'd hurt anything."

"You got this?" Jax said to Happy with a nod at Wendy's body.

"You know I do, boss."

"Good. Ope, you take Gable and Ortiz back to their place. I've got Telford."

"Great," Olivia said. She felt like she had whiplash from the events of the past several minutes, and a quick glance at Juice told her he was just as shaken. "I guess let's hit the road."

* * *

They stood in their living room together, and awkward silence filled the space between them.

"Are you hungry?" he said at last.

"Um." She ran a hand through her hair. "Yeah. I could eat, I guess. I'm—I really need a shower."

"Okay," he said. "Go on. I'll make something."

She nodded and turned away, her movements jerky and slow, but she paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Juice?"

He stopped in the kitchen doorway to cast a look over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Come with me. Please?"

He'd never heard her voice quite like that: sad and small and vulnerable, and he knew he couldn't say no. "Yeah, of course." He slid his palm into her offered hand and she led him upstairs.

In the bathroom he helped her undress, slowly stripping each item of clothing and pressing soft kisses against her skin as it was revealed. She did the same for him, running her fingers along his body like she'd never touched him before. They stepped under the hot spray and he lathered his hands before sliding them down her back.

Neither said a word, and they barely took their eyes off each other. After he was done with her she washed him, then he turned her around to rub shampoo in her hair. He pulled the shower head free to rinse, and as he pressed against her back she could feel his erection on her ass.

She wanted him. Wanted him so bad it hurt. He kissed her shoulder, mouthing the droplets of water from her skin, and she reached around him to turn the water off.

He helped her out of the tub and grabbed a towel. His touch was impossibly gentle as he dried her, and when he knelt to dry her legs he pressed a soft kiss between her thighs. Their eyes met, his imploring, and after a moment she nodded.

Her hair was a dripping tangle down her back, and he hadn't bothered to dry himself at all, but he picked her up and carried her toward his room (the closer of the two) and set her down on the bed as if she were made of porcelain. She pulled him down with her and their mouths met, the first time since the storage locker, and he kissed her like a drowning man.

He pulled away to nip at her full lips. Her chin. The corner of her jaw and the tip of her nose. He trailed his tongue down the side of her neck and kissed along her collarbones. His pace was maddening, slow and deliberate and perfectly designed to make her squirm: over her breasts to linger at her nipples, then down, down to bite at the curve of her hip.

Her breath left in a rush, and he raised his head to check in. There were tears on her cheeks, and as his brows drew together she gave a quick shake of her head and touched his face. Her mouth curved, a tiny smile, and he smiled back. Turned his head to kiss her fingertips and then lower, to the inside of her thigh.

Lifting one of her legs over his shoulder, he dipped his chin to plant feather-light kisses against her labia. She sighed, soft and easy, and he grinned. His tongue slipped between her lips, licking a line from just above her clit down to the curve of her ass.

"Juice!" she breathed, the first word she'd spoken since she asked him to join her in the shower. "Please!"

He let out a quiet groan and ran his tongue over her clit. She tasted so fucking good: musky and sweet; and he knew he couldn't deny her what she wanted. He spread her with two fingers and made his tongue flat and soft as he licked up and down, long slow laps that made her pant and whimper. Her fingers tangled in his short hair, and when his lips closed around the sensitive nub her hips lifted off the bed.

A grin lit up his face as he sucked, first her clit, then her lips until she moaned. He took his time, just like he had on her body: he licked and nibbled and sucked. Tortured her with teasing little flicks; lapped at her with eager hunger. Circled his tongue around her clit and ran it in figure eights down to her entrance and back until she was wrung-out and begging. She gripped double handfuls of the sheets; her chest heaved and she was nearly sobbing with the need to come.

He lashed across her clit and slid two fingers into her. Practically the instant he touched her G-spot that was it: her body arched and she let out a rough, wordless cry. He kept his tongue gentle but didn't let up with his fingers as the orgasm gripped her.

"Juice!" she whimpered between bone-deep shudders. "Juice, baby, love you, love you!" It went on and on, and it wasn't until she finally started to come down from it that that he pulled away.

A ragged sigh and a kiss to her inner thigh. He still had his fingers buried in her cunt, and as he curled them against her G-spot she jerked and moaned. He didn't ask if she wanted more; he knew. His tongue was soft on her clit, a velvet glide, and it sent delicious, shivery waves of heat through her.

She tugged at his hair until he lifted his head to look at her, and the expression on her face brought him up to her mouth. They kissed, her tongue dancing against his, and she could taste herself on his mouth. She sucked his fingers between her lips and licked them clean, and it was then that he thrust into her.

Her moan was muffled by his hand, and her teeth rasped against his knuckles. He pulled his fingers free and kissed her to swallow her cries. Her legs went around his waist, but he pulled them higher, buried himself deeper, and he never dropped her eyes as he moved.

She pushed at his shoulder until he rolled, taking her with him so that she straddled him. Her wet hair was wild, tangled into ropes like a mermaid up from the sea, and when she bent over him for a kiss he strained eagerly toward her. She flicked her tongue against his mouth and lifted her hips. He held her still until her teeth sank into his lower lip, and then he let her go so that she dropped onto him.

They both groaned, and after that the room was filled with nothing but the sound of rough, labored breaths and skin against skin. She braced her palms on his chest and he ran one hand up her body to cup her breast while the other slid in between them. He made a V of his fingers around her clit, and with every roll of her hips the friction made her gasp.

"Fuck, baby—!" he stuttered as she picked up the pace, but then she was kissing him again and he didn't have any breath left for words anyway. She dragged his arms above his head and held them there, and he made a low, rough noise as she bit the side of his neck. His jaw. His earlobe.

She whispered his name and words of love, and he craned his neck to kiss anywhere he could reach: along her cheek and across her temple and around the curve of her ear. She ground against him, and when her moans turned high-pitched and desperate he yanked his wrists from her grip and flipped them over. Thrust hard and deep and cried out as she clenched around him.

Her hips bucked to meet him and they came together, her in a long, hot wave and him in a mind-numbing scramble. "Livvie," he breathed into the curve of her neck. "Livvie, baby, sweetheart, Livvie!"

As the last shudders passed he gathered her against him and ran both hands down her sweat-slicked back.

"I might need another shower after all that," she said, breathlessly.

He laughed. "In a minute. I gotta catch my breath first."

"I'm not goin' anywhere," she said.

There was a long silence while they just held each other, until finally he said, "What will you tell Roosevelt tomorrow?"

She was quiet so long he double checked to make sure she hadn't fallen asleep. "Liv?" he said.

"I don't know, Juice. At this point I…what  _can_  I say? They fucked us. Both of us. They made you into a mole, and me…who the hell can I trust now?"

He brushed his nose over her damp hair. "Me, Olivia. You can trust me. I'll never lie to you again."

"I know," she said.

She said it so easily, with such quiet confidence, that he wasn't sure he'd heard her right. "You…know?"

"Yeah, Juice." She propped herself on one elbow so that they were eye to eye. "I know. Right now we're the only ones we  _can_  trust. We stick together and we'll make it through this."

"Okay," he said, frowning a little. "Then what?"

"Then…" She sighed. "I don't know, baby. We play it by ear."

He cupped her face in his hand and kissed her soft and slow. "Fair enough," he said. Then, as he brushed his thumb over her mouth, "I love you."

She grinned. "I know it, Ortiz. I love you too."

He kissed her again, then broke away with a frown. "I'm really fuckin' hungry."

"Oh my God." She kissed his nose. "If you're not thinkin' with your dick, it's your tummy."

"I haven't eaten today. We've had sex three times, we were kidnapped, I watched someone get murdered in front of me, and I thought you were gonna kill me this morning. And, of course, there've been so goddamn many plot twists my neck hurts."

"Hum. How about we grab something to eat and see if we can't go for four?"

"God I love the way you think," he said and tackled her.

"Ortiz!" she said through her giggles. "Juice! Come on, I'm hungry too!"

"In a minute," he said. "Just a minute."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this'll probably be ending at 21. Maybe 22. Definitely soon, tho. :)


	21. Dinner

The next morning Olivia had an extremely frustrating debrief with Roosevelt while Juice packed his things. They missed each other in passing, he on his way to his meeting with Roosevelt and her returning, and when she poked her head in his room she had to bite her lip.

Empty. Spotless and empty.

She wandered down the hall toward her room and dragged a suitcase from the closet. She hadn't brought many of her own things; she and Sophie didn't share a sense of style, really; so it was only the matter of an hour or so to get everything she needed packed away. The rest would be donated, and Roosevelt said he had a team that would take care of anything they didn't take with them.

Her phone rang, and the caller ID told her it was Juice. She smiled a little as she answered. "Hey," she said. "How'd it go?"

"Not…super great," he said, and something about his tone made her legs go weak. She sat down on the stripped bed and took a deep breath.

"Tell me," she said.

"He fired me."

She blinked. Part of her wasn't surprised, but another part… "Juice, that's fucking bullshit. They set you up. It's fucking entrapment!"

"Yeah," he said. "My LT told me I should get a union rep involved, but honestly—after all that? I'm not sure I want the job anyway." He paused. "My LT also said the FBI made another offer."

"Seriously?"

"Yup." There was the sound of cars in the background, horns and tires on wet asphalt.

"Will you take it?"

"I don't know. I was thinking about it. There's just—babe, it's in Quantico."

"Oh," she said, for lack of anything better. "Maybe we should wait to have this discussion when we're face to face?"

He let out a long breath. "Yeah," he said. "That might be better. Can I…can I meet you somewhere later? For dinner, maybe?"

"That'd be good," she said. She named a place not too far from her apartment and gave him the address, and he promised to be there by eight. "See you then, Ortiz."

"Yeah, Gable," he said, and she could hear his smile. "Love you."

"Love you too." They said their goodbyes and hung up, and Olivia fell back onto the mattress with a sigh.

Of course they fucking fired him. Of fucking course.

"What a clusterfuck," she muttered. Would she be fired too? It was possible, but Roosevelt hadn't acted like that was an option on the table.

What would she do if Juice moved to Virginia?

She couldn't ask him to stay. In the grand scheme of things they barely knew each other. She loved him. Wanted him. But she knew she had no right to make any sort of claim on him.

Her phone beeped again, her alarm this time, reminding her of her meeting with Morrow. She hauled herself off the bed, ran a brush through her hair, and grabbed her bags. At the door she paused.

She wouldn't be coming back here. Neither of them would.

"Thanks, house," she said. "It's been real."

* * *

Juice wasn't actually that pissed that Roosevelt had fired him. Well—he was mad he didn't get to quit, because he'd been planning on it. It was bad enough that everyone had lied to everyone on this fucking case, but the operation had been his idea, his brainchild, and the fuckers hadn't even had the decency to let him know when it started to go tits up.

Instead they set him up as the fucking mole and then fired him for taking the bait. Olivia had been right: it was entrapment.

Not much he could do about it, though, and luckily the offer from the Feds had come hard on the heels of Roosevelt's bombshell. The problem, of course, was Quantico. Virginia. Hundreds of miles from his family and…yeah, okay, from Olivia.

It was too soon to be thinking like that, but he couldn't help it. She was smart and funny and beautiful and if they could survive all the shit they'd just been through, surely they could survive anything. He didn't know if he should try to talk her into coming to Virginia with him or let her make up her own mind. If he didn't at least  _try_  he felt like he'd be cheating them both.

Or maybe he wouldn't have to try, and she'd just want to go.

Please. Two months with Olivia Gable had taught him a thing or two about stubbornness. There was no way she'd jump at the chance to move, to leave her friends and her job and everything she had in the city. Her cat. He was pretty sure she had a cat. Well, no, she could bring a cat with her.

He let out a frustrated sigh. It was a long time till eight. Plenty of time for him to worry about it. He knew the restaurant she'd named; it was nice. Not fancy or expensive, but nice. Small and quiet, with a sort of romantic vibe. She'd picked a romantic restaurant for them to have dinner. That had to be a good sign. Right?

The question was how to handle things. Did he play up the  _romantic dinner_  vibe, or treat it like just another night? Sophie and Javy hadn't gone out much, so it was almost, sort of, like their first official date. But considering the wild and crazy sex they'd been having the past few days, he thought maybe treating it like an  _actual_  first date would be overdoing it a little.

He wanted to make it special, though. To show her how much she meant to him, and that even if she didn't want to come to Virginia with him (it was asking an awful lot, after all) he still wanted to keep things going if they could. Long distance could work. Sort of from one extreme to another, but…there was email and texting and Skype, and he'd be back in the city as often as possible to see his mom and sister.

God his mom was gonna flip. Maybe it would balance it out a little if he could introduce her to Olivia.  _Hey, Mama, this is my girlfriend and oh by the way I got fired from the department but the FBI offered me a job so I'm moving to Virginia. Man those_ pasteles _smell great!_

He was a dead man.

He stood in front of the florist and pursed his lips. Flowers or not? He wasn't sure if Olivia would even want flowers. He knew her favorites, but that didn't mean she'd like a bouquet of them. Or being called his girlfriend when he introduced her to his mom. Or being introduced to his mom.

What if now that they were back to their regular lives she wanted to end it? Like, maybe it'd all been sort of…a diversion. A way to pass the time while they were undercover.

"No," he muttered to his reflection in the shop window. He believed that she loved him. She wasn't the type of person to say that unless she meant it, undercover or not.

It was different with them. There was a connection, had been since day one. He didn't understand it and he sure as fuck couldn't explain it, but from the moment he first saw her he'd wanted to know her better. After that it had just been a matter of time before he was completely smitten, then completely head over heels.

He let out a rough sigh and walked into the shop. Flowers. For sure flowers. Even if she wasn't the type of woman who loved getting flowers he knew she'd still appreciate the gesture.

* * *

When Juice got to the restaurant at five till eight the maître d' pointed him toward the bar. Their table wasn't ready, but Olivia was already there. He navigated through the small crowd, and as he cleared it he looked up and his breath caught.

She perched on a high bar chair, one leg crossed over the other, and from his view all he could see was…leg. Miles of it. She wore a dress, deep purple and sleeveless, cut high in the front but low in the back, and when she saw him and slipped off the stool he could see that the flowing skirt only came down to about mid-thigh. He stepped closer and pressed a kiss to her cheek; her four-inch heels brought her nearly toe eye level.

"Hey," he said with a warm smile. "You look great."

"Thanks," she said. "You do too." Black slacks, white button down with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. Simple, but effective, and she'd felt the same sort of breathless, punched-in-the-gut feeling when she saw him that he had upon glimpsing her.

He held out the flowers and his grin deepened. "Too cliché?"

Purple tulips. Her favorite, of course. "No," she said, laughing. "Not at all. They match my dress."

"That part was an accident," he said.

Their eyes met and a silence fell between them. Her teeth sank into her full lower lip and his pupils went huge. The tension ratcheted up a notch or two and when she felt heat creep across her cheeks she had a very strong urge to tell him to forget dinner; they could order takeout back at her place after several hours of creative, athletic sex.

But she didn't, and before either of them could say anything else, the maître d' appeared at Juice's elbow to show them to their table and the moment was broken. She looked away, blushing harder than ever, and he flashed her a sheepish smile as he pressed a light hand to the small of her back.

He rubbed his thumb against her skin as they walked, and she tried to suppress a shiver.

He could smell her perfume, something spicy and sexy. She'd never worn perfume before. It took a huge amount of self control to keep his hands out of her hair; it fell in sleek waves down her back, and he slid his palm up a little just to feel the ends of it tickle his fingers. She looked up at him with a brief smile, and he knew she could tell exactly what he's thinking.

"Behave, Ortiz," she whispered.

He tried to look big-eyed and innocent. "I'm just walking. Isn't that what you're doing?"

"Mmhhmm." She sat in the chair he held for her and accepted a menu from the maître d' without dropping Juice's steady gaze.

"Man, I'm starving," he said as he opened his menu. "What's good here?"

"Everything. I usually do beef tartar and pommes frites. But I like the scallops a lot, too."

"Raw meat and french fries?"

She grinned. "Yup. I'm a complex and multi-faceted woman, what can I say?"

"That's the truth." Their server appeared, and he ordered a beer while she got a glass of wine, and despite the face he made she ordered the tartar as a starter.

"You'll like it," she said. "Trust me."

He did, as it turned out, and he also liked the fish he ordered for his entree, and the chocolate mousse they split for dessert. They both knew they had a lot to talk about, important things, but the food was so good, and they were both so relaxed now that the pressures of the case were gone, that they just ate and laughed, drank and enjoyed each other as the crowd around them came and went, and gradually the restaurant emptied out.

Finally Olivia set her empty espresso cup on the table and smiled at him. "We should maybe get out of here," she said. "I think they'd appreciate it."

He blinked and looked around. "Holy shit," he said, laughing. "I didn't—where'd everybody go?"

"There's a couple over there, by the window, but otherwise I'm pretty sure it's just us."

They both reached for the check, but he shook his head. "Let me. Please. I know it's kinda old fashioned, but…?"

"Sure, Juicy," she said. Then, "I'm gonna run to the ladies' room. Meet you outside?"

"Okay." He watched her go, appreciating the view, before he paid, left a generous tip since they'd tied up the table so long, and stepped out to wait for her. It had gotten cold while they ate, and when she walked through the door she shivered almost as soon as the air hit her skin.

"Wow," she said on a billowing breath. She wrapped her coat around her a little more tightly and offered a grin. "Wish I'd brought gloves."

"Yeah, no shit. Here." He took her fine boned hands in his bigger ones and rubbed them. "Better?" he said, softly.

"Much."

He dropped one of them and entwined his fingers with hers. "Walk me to the subway?"

She frowned. "I live a couple of blocks from here. You should—you should come up."

A grin crinkled the corners of his eyes and he ducked his head. "Are you sure? You don't sound sure."

"Shut up, Ortiz," she said and nudged his shoulder with hers. "Shut up and say yes."

"Yeah, Liv. I'd like that a lot."

She curled her fingers in the front of his shirt and tugged him closer until their lips met, warm and soft. "Good," she murmured.

He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. Her forehead. "Come to Virginia with me, Olivia."

She blinked. "Juice—"

"I know," he said. "I know it's too soon and it's crazy and your life and your job are all here, but just…could you just think about it?"

"Yeah, love," she said after a moment. "Of course I can."

He squeezed her hand. "Thank you. In the meantime, before I go, you think maybe you'd like to have Sunday dinner at my mom's?"

They'd reached her building by then, and he waited while she typed in the security code and led him toward the elevator. "Sunday dinner, huh?"

He pushed her into the elevator and kissed her, his lips lingering and his tongue flicking against hers. She reached around him to punch her floor and then they were kissing again. He slid a hand under her coat to brush his fingertips against her bare back.

"I really like this dress," he said, roughly.

She bit her lip around a smirk. "I thought you would."

"It's just my mom, my sister, and me," he said. He followed her down the hall and leaned against the wall as she unlocked her door. "So it's not like some giant Puerto Rican family you'd have to meet. Just the two of them."

"Hhmm," she said, thoughtfully, and shut the door behind them. Set the locks and spun around to wrap her arms around his neck. He shoved her coat off her shoulders and she scrambled to unbuttoned his shirt. "You really want me to meet your mom and sister?"

"Uh huh," he said between desperate, fervent kisses. "Bedroom?"

"Through there."

He pulled her legs around his waist and carried her the direction she pointed. Dropped her on the bed as she laughed. Her expression turned serious as he reached for his belt, and she watched with hungry eyes as he dropped his pants and kicked them away. She held her arms out to him and he sank down on top of her, one hand sliding up the smooth line of her thigh, rucking her skirt as he went.

"I guess if you brought a girl home your mom'd stop trying to fix you up with girls from her church," she said. Her tongue found the sensitive spot near his Adam's apple and his head fell back.

"That's more a bonus," he said. "I really just want the three most important women in my life to meet. I know they'll love you as much as I do."

She froze, and he paused in the process of peeling her dress off.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Her throat worked as she swallowed. "No," she said. "No, not at all." She wriggled out of her dress and lifted so he could unclasp her bra. He kissed each nipple, his eyes steady on hers.

"Talk to me, baby."

"I'm one of the most important women in your life?" she said in a rush.

"Olivia—come on. You're one of the most important  _people_ , period. You know that."

She traced light fingers along the line of his jaw. "Do you really know me well enough to say that, Juan Carlos?"

"I think you'd be surprised how well I know you, Olivia."

Her mouth softened, and he couldn't resist kissing her. He nipped her bottom lip with his and glided his tongue over it. "I love you, Juice," she whispered.

"I love you too, Livvie."

"Stay tonight? Please? I have an extra toothbrush."

"Was really hoping you'd say that. My place is like three trains away and it's cold as balls out there."

She laughed and smacked his shoulder. "Asshole."

"Yup," he said, his grin unrepentant. "But yours."

"Damn straight," she murmured, and then they were kissing again, and for the moment nothing else mattered.


	22. That Simple

Olivia was already up by the time Juice woke the next morning, and he could smell coffee and bacon. He grinned and rolled out of bed, and after a quick stop in the bathroom he found her in the kitchen. She stood at the counter, her back to him, and she was wearing a snug t-shirt and panties. He snuck up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Morning, beautiful," he murmured into her hair.

"Good morning. I thought you were gonna sleep all day."

"I guess you wore me out last night."

Grinning, she turned around to face him, and his hands slid down to cup her ass. "For someone your age you have remarkable stamina, Ortiz."

"My age?" he said, offended. "I'm only two years older than you."

"Mmhhmm. With a refractory period of a man ten years younger."

"What can I say? You inspire me." He pulled her closer and dipped his head for a long kiss. "I could show you right now if you want…"

"So tempting," she said, "but I've got work, and I'm already running late."

"You're back already?"

"Yeah. I think Roosevelt wanted to put me on administrative leave, just so I'd take some time, but Morrow pitched a fit."

She wiggled away to pour him a cup of coffee. Added the sugar he liked and handed it over. "Hang out as long as you want, though. No rush." She paused. "I guess you probably need to get home. Start packing."

He frowned into his coffee. "I'm leaving in two weeks."

She took a deep breath and let it out as she crossed her arms under her breasts and slumped back against the counter. "This is so fucked up, Juice. Maybe you should get that union rep, like your LT suggested."

"I could, except…I don't know. Kinda looking forward to this shit with the Feds. I guess they're gonna keep me on the Teller case for a while, which is cool."

"Uh huh. You and Jax were such big buddies."

His mouth quirked. "He's a dick. But Opie's okay, and I never had any issues with Gemma, really. Except for the one time when she threatened to kill you and my whole family."

"Except for that, Mrs. Lincoln."

He hitched a shoulder. "Play sucked anyway."

She ducked her head to hide a smile, and when she looked up again his eyes were serious. "Juice—"

"It's okay. I don't need an answer today. Or even this week. Just think about it, like we said. Take your time."

A silence fell between them, and she chewed her lip as she studied him. Finally, "I really want to say yes."

He had a feeling that meant she was going to say no, and while it didn't particularly surprise him, it did give him a lurch of disappointment deep in the pit of his stomach. "You should," he said, quietly. "I'll spend the rest of my life making you happy, Olivia, if you'll just let me."

"We barely know each other, Juice. It's been two months, and those weren't exactly typical."

"Yeah, but…there are some things you just  _know_. You're one of them."

She wanted to tell him how crazy that was, but she didn't. Because he was right. It was insane and it didn't make sense and she didn't even believe in that kind of thing, but he was right. From the moment she saw him. From the first time he'd touched her. She'd known there was something special about him, something different, and that whatever happened he was going to make a big impression on her life.

She didn't want to lose that. But Virginia? Moving hundreds of miles away with a guy she'd known two months?

"If I do say no, does it mean—" She broke off and looked away, her nose scrunching. "Does it mean we're done?"

"Shit I hope not," he said. He stepped closer and hooked a finger under her chin. "I know I'm asking way too much, Liv. I'll understand completely if you aren't ready or you can't do it. No matter what happens, though, I don't wanna lose you."

"I don't want to lose you either, Juicy."

He grinned and kissed her. "You won't, babe. Don't worry about that. You're mine, no matter what you decide, and I'm yours. Okay?"

"Yeah, Ortiz. Okay." Her arms went around his neck and their mouths met again. He set his mug on the counter behind her to gather her close, and as his hands slid under her t-shirt she pulled away with a reluctant groan. "I'm gonna be so late."

"What're they gonna do?" he said as he nipped at her throat. "Fire you?"

"I think they would've done that already if they were going to."

"Uh huh. And you know you'll have a much better day after some nice morning sex."

"You realize the last time we had morning sex, afterwards I outed you as the mole and we got kidnapped?"

"All the more reason," he said. He rucked her shirt up and tickled her sides. "We need to make some new morning sex memories."

She brushed her hand across the front of his shorts and bit her lip around a grin. "You're incorrigible."

"Yup," he said, moving his coffee mug before he boosted her onto the counter in its place. "I haven't ever noticed you complaining about it."

"Not complaining now," he said. She combed her fingers through his hair and wrapped her legs around him. He kissed her hot and hard, and she pulled away just long enough to get rid of her shirt.

"You make me so crazy, baby," he mumbled against her skin. He traced a constellation in the freckles on her chest and kissed lower to rub his lips over her nipples. "Want you so bad all the damn time."

He ripped her panties away, making her gasp, and his fingertips found her wet and slick. "The feeling's kinda mutual," she said at his look.

He chuckled and bit her shoulder, then flicked two fingers against her clit. She gasped, digging her teeth into her lower lip, and as he teased she gave a groan of frustration.

"Baby, you know I love foreplay. Especially with you. It's normally my favorite part."

"Uh huh," he said as he circled his tongue around her nipple.

"But I'm gonna be late for work and I'm already on thin ice as it is."

He looked up with a grin. "Oh, I see. You just wanna use me and leave me."

"That's the general idea, yeah."

He shrugged. "I'm surprisingly okay with that."

She pushed his shorts down and wrapped her hand around his erection. "I thought you might be."

He grasped her thighs to drag her legs higher, and she braced a hand behind her and let out a breath. "Please!"

His fingers found hers where they gripped him. "Please what, baby?" he said. Together they gave his shaft a long, slow stroke. "You want this in you? Want me to fuck you right here on your kitchen counter?"

"You're so  _mean_ ," she breathed.

"Why, Livvie?" He dragged the tip of cock up and down her slit, bumping over her clit so that she squirmed. "Because I like to tease you? But you love it." He bit her earlobe. The corner of her jaw. The sensitive spot where the pulse pounded in her throat. "Tell me how much you love it," he rasped.

"Fuck, Juicy," she said, her voice ragged, "you know I love it. So goddamn much. You know it makes me nuts."

"I do know," he said. He dipped a finger into her aching cunt. Pulled it out again and slicked it across her mouth until her lips parted and she licked it clean with an eager keen. "It gets you so wet for me, baby. Makes you taste so damn sweet." His teeth sank into her lower lip and he sucked hard. "Just wanna lick you all up."

"God, Juicy, God please!" Her voice was a high-pitched, breathy scramble, and he could feel it like a sweet vise squeezing his balls.

"You still in a hurry, sweetheart? Still wanna use me and leave me?"

"Yes! Fuck me, goddammit, and make it good. I've got places to be."

He laughed and pulled her hand away from his cock; brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed each one. His eyes were steady on hers, his pupils huge, and when he pushed into her her head fell back on a long, desperate moan.

"Don't I always fuck you good, Livvie? Don't I always give you exactly what you need?"

Her free hand clasped the back of his neck, her nails digging into his skin. "You do, baby," she gasped. "God you do!"

He rained kisses over her face and down her neck, and he yanked her toward him as he thrust in hard. "Love you so much, baby. Love fuckin' you. Love bein' with you. Love makin' you feel good." His words were slurred, his voice rough, and she couldn't get enough.

"Don't stop," she said. "Please, don't stop, please!"

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hip and he bit her shoulder, the same spot as before. "God you feel so good. So wet and hot. Wonder how many times I can make you come in the next two weeks? How many different ways?"

"Maybe I  _should_  take that time off work," she said between gasps.

"We'll just stay in bed all day," he murmured into the side of her neck. He pressed into her and circled his hips, and she rocked closer.

"Who needs a bed?" she said.

Across the room her phone rang, and her eyes went wide.

"Ignore it," he said.

"It's probably Morrow wondering where the hell I am."

"Let him wonder. Right now you're mine. Only mine." He went still, his eyes steady and intense on hers, and then kissed her. "You gonna come for me, Livvie?"

"God yes," she breathed. "Please, baby, I'm so close!"

He pulled her off the counter and she blinked up at him, befuddled, until he spun her around.

"Juice!" she said, and then he was inside her again and she was out of breath for words. His slid his hand between her thighs to find her clit, and with each jerk of his hips his fingertips rasped across it.

"Oh God," she moaned. "Oh God, Juicy, please, please!"

"Feel so good, Livvie, love you so much. You're mine, you're mine, no matter what. Tell me I'm yours, baby, tell me how much you love me."

"Yes, Juan Carlos, yes yes I love you you're mine I love you!" The orgasm hit with the last  _you_ , and her entire body went taut. Her head fell back and he mouthed the curve of her neck and along her shoulder, and as he felt her clench around him he knew he couldn't hold on.

"That's it, sweetheart, that's it fuck yes, Livvie!" He pumped into her until he felt rung out and exhausted and little starbursts exploded in front of his eyes. She panted hard, and groaned when he slumped against her.

"Jesus," she whispered.

"Good?" he gasped, dropping kisses along the line of her back.

"Uh huh. Good."

He managed to take his weight off her, and as she shifted from underneath him he spun her around for a long, rough kiss. "Olivia—"

"I know, babe," she said. She brushed a hand over his cheek. "Trust me, I know."

"Has it ever—?"

"No." Her swollen mouth quirked. "No, never."

"It hasn't for me, either. I think that matters."

"I do too." She hesitated. "I'm gonna call Morrow. Tell him I need another day. There's a little farmer's market in that park down the block? We could go get some things. Make dinner tonight. Spend the day."

He grinned, the big blinding one that transformed his whole face and left her dizzy and blinking. "I'd like that."

"Or we could go to your place."

"Nah," he said. "Let's stay here." His smile transformed into a frown, and a crease formed between his brows. "I'll run home, though. Grab some clothes and stop in on my mom real fast. Her place is the first train stop before mine. I'll be like—two hours. Max. Is that okay?"

"Yeah," she said. She kissed him, soft and sweet. "The market doesn't close till four."

"Okay. I'll be back. Soon."

She laughed. "Put your clothes on and go, Ortiz. I'll be here."

He paused a moment to brush her hair back from her face. "I love you, Olivia."

"I know, Juice. I love you too."

"Kind of can't get enough of hearing it. Or saying it."

"That's so cheesy," she said and rolled her eyes. Then, as she fought a grin, "I can't either."

He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. "Be back soon."

"I know you will. I'll be here," she said again.

* * *

Less than half an hour later she was surprised by a knock at her door. She shut the lid on her laptop and hopped up to answer it, her face creasing in a grin. "That was fast!" she said. "Did you forget—oh."

"Not who you were expectin', lass?" Chibs said with a wry tilt to his mouth.

"Not really," she said, her voice going cool. "What brings you by?"

"Can I come in?"

She had a very strong urge to tell him no, but that seemed petty. Instead she stepped back and let him slip past her. "Can I get you something?" she said. "There's coffee, or I could make tea."

"Nah, I'm good." A quick glance around and he took note of the vase of fresh tulips on the table. Two empty coffee mugs on the counter and the smell of bacon in the air. He knew her well enough to know she didn't bother making bacon just for herself.

He let out a long sigh and scraped a hand down his face, taking care to avoid the lingering cuts and bruises. "What are ye doin', girl?"

"Don't speak to me like that, Filip Telford. I'm not a child."

"Oh aye? Then why the bloody hell are you actin' like one?"

"What are you talking about?" she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I've recently been through a harrowing experience and decided I needed more than fourteen or so hours off work afterwards. I don't see how that's being childish."

"Where is he?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but he left a little while ago. Went home."

"Bet he'll be back."

"Why the fuck do you care?"

He studied her through shrewd, concerned eyes. "I care about  _you_ , Ollie. Always have done. You know that. I'm your—"

"Don't you fucking say it," she said. Suddenly her throat felt thick, and she had to pause to collect herself. "Don't you dare call yourself my partner. Not after that shit you just pulled."

"I understand you're angry—"

"Fuck you," she snapped. "Fuck you, Telford! You set us up. Ortiz got fired because of that bullshit, and it was a goddamn set up!"

"Aye, well, I didn't exactly come out unscathed," he said.

"Good!" She took a deep breath. "I don't—I would never wish you  _harm_ , but I'm really fucking pissed at you."

"I asked you that day if you were sleepin' with him, and you told me no."

"Yeah. It was true."

"Was it?"

"Yes, Chibs, it was! I never lied to you."

He took a step closer. "So what happened? I told you we suspected he might be the mole—"

"Don't," she said through gritted teeth. "We both know what that bit of intel was worth."

"Aye, but it was truth, wasn't it? Set up or no, he took the bait. He didn't come to you or anyone else with it. He was feeding information to the Tellers."

"They threatened to kill his family. His mom and his sister."

He snorted. "They wouldn't do that. How unprofessional."

"He didn't know that, Filip," she said, and she sounded weary. "He'd never done anything like this before. Roosevelt sent him in unprepared, set him up to take a fall, and then fucking fired him for it. The whole thing is bullshit, and frankly I don't know who to trust anymore."

"Seems as you trust Ortiz well enough."

"Yep. I know he lied to me, but I believe him when he says that's the end of it. I believe the things he says to me." Their eyes met. "I think you of all people can appreciate how rare that is."

"Don't think I've ever heard you say it about anyone before."

"Can't recall ever  _feeling_  it about anyone before."

He slumped down in the nearest chair and rested his elbows on his knees. His expression was pensive, and through the bruises she could see worried lines carved deep. "You love him, then?"

She bit her lip. "Yeah, Chibs," she said. "Yeah. I do."

He pushed himself to his feet and took a step closer. "What if I told you I think you're makin' a mistake?"

Her chin came up and he recognized the stubborn glint in her eyes. "I would tell you, again, that it's none of your business. You don't even know him."

"True, but I do know  _you_. You're not one to have your head turned by a pretty face."

Her mouth twisted in a sardonic grimace. "Then maybe trust me, Chibs. Trust that that's not what's happening here."

He made a low, doubtful noise. "And what does the lad want from you, Ollie lass?"

"Believe it or not, Chibs, I don't think he wants anything  _from_  me. I think he just wants me. And I want him."

"Simple as that, yeah?"

"Actually, you know…I think it just might be. For once?" Her brow furrowed in something like confusion. "I think it really is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like we're gonna have one more after all. :)


End file.
